A Gentleman Scientist & A Perky Pyromaniac
by Erednay
Summary: A gentleman scientist discovers that he's not as alone as he thought, when he finds a perky pyromaniac. This is their story.
1. A Chance Meeting

_All the characters appearing in A Gentleman Scientist and A Perky Pyromaniac are copyright Klei Entertainment, Don't Starve. No infringement of these copyrights is intended._

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**A Chance Meeting**

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The Gentleman Scientist sat on his bed roll in contemplative thought while waiting for dawn and pondered what his next actions should be. He knew he had to find a way out of Maxwell's deranged world one way or another, but after numerous weeks of simply surviving and finding no sign of any way out of this madness – he was beginning to lose hope.

He also felt lonely.

It was an odd experience to him; he went for weeks on end without seeing another living soul in the real world without feeling any consequential loneliness as his constant experiments and pursuit for knowledge kept him occupied. But now there wasn't a simple barrier in the form of a house and physical distance preventing the rest of the world, who he had loathed previously, from interacting from the misanthrope.

Now he was in an entire different dimension where pigs stood proudly on two feet, giant tentacles sprouted from the ground to kill wary creatures, spiders the size of small mammals crawled around at dusk and an ominous presence lurked in the dead of night.

He shivered at his recollection of the first night.

A few weeks ago he would have thought himself ludicrous for even entertaining such a notion as a beast that only dwelled in darkness, that could literally 'vanish' in the presence of light. But this was Maxwell's world he reminded himself, and the same rules didn't apply. He eventually settled upon believing it was a creature of Maxwell's creation intended to be his unruly demise if he wasn't careful.

But he was careful, well, most of the time. He berated himself daily for his rash actions that landed himself in this situation – he was too greedy and believed that a human life was far too little time to truly gain the knowledge he wanted to and he unknowingly struck a deal with the devil himself.

He surveyed his camp: a campfire was burning steadily in the centre, and two chests neatly positioned a safe distance downwards from it. Just above that, there was his creation humming quietly, he simply called it a 'Science Machine', it allowed him to refine some of the materials he collected and create more useful contraptions.

On the other side of the camp, there was a small wooden table which housed his makeshift log armour, a useful backpack constructed from twigs and grass that held an assortment of gathering tools ranging from pickaxes to shovels and finally a spear with a razor sharp piece of flint for the tip.

Weapons were essential in surviving in Maxwell's domain, much to his chagrin. He had learnt that the hard way after being chased by hounds for an entire night, blindly stumbling in unknown territory before eventually ending up in the swamp and awakening a tentacle that became his unknowing salvation as it slaughtered the hounds.

He sighed, dawn would be minutes away and he could swear that the days were becoming shorter. He also felt a chilly breeze in the air much often than not and the only reasonable explanation would be that winter was coming, which meant resources would become scarce and he needed to stock up.

Finally the sun appeared over the horizon, and Wilson had newfound respect for the star that had saved his life on more than one occasion. His hypothesis was that he was still on planet Earth, due to numerous physical signs indicating it – most notably the sun, but this portion of Earth was under Maxwell's influence which allowed him to toy around with it in deranged ways. He suspected that he was on an uncharted island somewhere.

He stood up and stretched gingerly, massaging his aching muscles from the tedious efforts of gathering materials that he needed. He finished his cold breakfast consisting of a morsel of rabbit that he caught yesterday and some wild berries. He slipped on his gear, a log suit and a backpack before lifting his spear and making his way out into the wilderness.

Wilson fished out his papyrus map and studied the charcoal engravings upon it; he spotted the area where he noted the most rocks were and set off in that direction. He had plans for improving his Science Machine into something more substantial that allowed for more ingenious contraptions that he somehow just _knew_ how to create – probably and after effect of gaining the forbidden knowledge that Maxwell gave him.

Eventually the grassy path turned stony, and he could make out the rocks in the distance. He smiled at himself and felt pleased that his geographical memory had not failed him. As he came to the rocks, he kept looking for the tell-tale golden gleam that indicated it housed gold – a useful commodity in this place.

Spotting his target, he grinned and retrieved the pickaxe from his backpack and went to work on the rock. After several minutes of swinging, the rock steadily disintegrated and left him with a hoard of flint, stone and three nuggets of gold. He estimated he would need one more to create the two essential electrical doodads for his new contraption.

He carefully stored the materials in his backpack and continued onwards in search of more gold bearing rocks, and then he heard a Tallbird shriek in anger. Immediately he scuttled behind a nearby rock and surveyed the area around him, but it sounded quite a distance off.

Frowning, he peeked around the rock where he thought the sound emanated from. The sight made his jaw drop.

A girl was running furiously with a Tallbird egg away from the furious mother, her expression was one of terror and frustration as she wobbled along. Wilson's usually lighting paced mind slowed momentarily as he processed the scene before him, and highlighted the most important detail – another human being.

A pained squeal snapped him out of his stupor. Evidently, the Tallbird had caught up with its unfortunate victim and had pecked her viciously on her left arm, the egg crashed to the ground and its contents flowed freely while the girl lay there in them clutching her wound.

The Tallbird was furious, and it attempted another peck but was interrupted by a certain scientist. He flung his pickaxe and it hit the creature alongside it's giant head, enraging it further and gaining it's undivided attention.

Wilson was terrified, he feared these creatures and rightfully so – they struck unnaturally fast and moved incredibly quickly. He didn't understand why he intervened without considering the consequences first, which a scientist should.

He noted that now wasn't the time to contemplate his decision, but for action. He reached for his spear and backed up while the Tallbird approached him with fury sketched into its solitary eye. He dodged the first peck, and the second peck (which nearly took his foot off, he noted) and swiped at the creature's long legs.

It wailed in agony and tried to peck him again – with no time to evade, Wilson slumped to the ground and angled his spear upwards towards the impending blow. He hoped this plan would work, because if it didn't, it would result in his death.

The spear travelled its way into the bird's eye as it slammed into it at full force, killing it instantly and rendering the weapon useless. Unfortunately Wilson was still in the way and the huge head fell onto him knocking out his breathe and cracking his armour a bit.

He managed to scuttle his way out underneath the Tallbird's corpse and slowly came back to his senses as the adrenalin wore off. Suddenly he remembered, the girl. He rushed over the girl who still lay in the egg's viscous contents, eyes closed and breathing shallow as she clutched her bleeding arm.

He crouched beside her and slipped his hand underneath her back, which elicited her opening an eye in response which stared at him.

"I need you to sit upright, to apply the salve." He stated curtly, time was of the essence.

A weak nod in reply later he fished out a healing salve out of his supplies and applied it to the wound while holding her up with his other hand. Slowly the anguish sketched on the girl's face subsided into something more manageable, and he sighed in relief.

He took in the girl's slender frame, and noted her skinny appearance. She was probably starving, he thought, as a wave of sympathy strung his usually uncaring heart. He felt sympathy for this girl thrown into this world; she looked so defenceless and innocent. While he had his smarts to survive here, he doubted this girl had that luxury.

The salve was doing its job, but he would need to bandage the wound to prevent further problems. When he thought she had relaxed enough, he spoke. "I'm going to lift you up now, and place you against a rock so that I can bandage your wounds."

The girl's brows furrowed momentarily, then gave another hesitant nod. As gently as he could, he scooped her out of the gooey contents and carried her bridal style towards a nearby rock. He couldn't help noticing her slick twin tails as he propped her against the rock.

By this point, she regarded him with a tired gaze as he worked on further cleaning her wound and applying some makeshift bandages he constructed from silk a few days ago. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he scurried back to his backpack and brought it back to her.

He took out a handful of berries he picked on the way here, and her eyes lit up with desire while her stomach churned audibly. She was positively starving as he presumed. She tried raising her good hand but to no avail. The previous endeavour had left her completely drained of energy; Wilson noted this and held his hand up in a peaceful gesture.

"Don't move yet," he commanded firmly but gently, "I'll feed you."

A faint blush found its way to the girl's cheeks, and he couldn't suppress his own smirk. Even when people are close to dying, their ability to feel embarrassed remains intact. The gesture carried no real weight to the scientist – she couldn't feed herself in her current condition so he had to, nothing more than that.

After apparently debating this option, the girl gave him the thumbs-up by nodding. Inwardly he hoped this wouldn't be how they would have to converse in the future, with him speaking and her gesturing. He hoped that she was just too traumatized and exhausted to actually speak.

Still, anything was an improvement to the solitude he has spent here. He popped a berry into her mouth and they watched each other as she chewed and swallowed. Soon they developed a comfortable pace and it became less awkward for the girl.

Before they knew it, Wilson fed her his last berry and they sat in silence for a while. He started standing up but was interrupted by a small voice.

"Thank you," it said.

He looked at the girl quizzically, and she smiled a tired smile at him. He returned the gesture and stood up completely and surveyed the sky – it was tinged with the orange that represented dusk. Soon it would be night.

They would not be able to reach his camp in time, and the girl was in no condition to walk that distance, they would be spending the night here. He took out his emergency fire supplies and started building a fire close to them which he would light when the darkness enveloped them.

The girl watched him work – and eventually saw confusion written on his face as his hand fumbled around in his pockets for his fire-starting kit consisting of a piece of flint and a stone. They were gone, probably fell out during his fight with the Tallbird. As he turned to make his way to the battleground, the girl's voice chimed.

"Look in my pocket," she said weakly, "I have a lighter."

He looked at her sceptically, how could she possibly have a lighter with her? Then he came to the conclusion that it must have been on her person when Maxwell transported her to this world. He reached into her pocket and felt something sturdy, and pulled it out to reveal an interesting looking lighter with a flower on it.

He shook it to determine how much fluid there was left, but no sloshing sounds were heard. He noticed her smirking at his reaction.

"Just try it," she coaxed.

Shrugging, he flicked it open and it revealed a small steady flame burning gently in the gloom of dusk. But it was empty, he thought, how could it still function? He tossed the question into the attic of his mind for later consideration – he needed to light the campfire, and he did so.

The sight of the fire calmed the girl who watched it with a slight smile. In seconds after the fire was lit, the darkness covered the area around them which the fire couldn't pierce. Wilson was relieved, he knew that the fire would last until morning so he went and sat next to the girl and huddled closer.

She regarded him with worried look, maybe afraid that he was going to try and take advantage of her in some way. He scoffed at the notion – he was a gentleman, it wasn't even a possibility much less a thought in his mind.

"The evening will become deathly cold," he explained matter-of-factly, "it will be better if we stay close together and conserve body heat."

"That… makes sense," she replied tersely.

With that, he closed the distance between them and sat against her. She was still sticky from her contact with the egg's contents and somewhat smelly, but he didn't pay that heed at the moment. He was ecstatic that he found another human being! Though he wondered why he only found her now, was she transported in recently? Was she one of Maxwell's ploys to break him?

He peered at the figure curiously; she was watching the fire with a gleeful expression. No, he decided, she couldn't be part of the nefarious devil's plans. Suddenly he came to the realization that he didn't even know this girl's name.

"What is your name?" he asked, pulling her gaze away from the fire and onto him.

"… Willow, and what is yours?" she asked.

"Wilson," he said proudly, "pleased to meet you, Willow."

The tension in her seemed to rise for a moment, before disappearing entirely. She looked into his dark eyes, searching for any hint of malice or deceit and found none.

"Same here," she said and smiled, and rested her head against his shoulder turning to watch the fire again. Wilson should have been unaffected by the gesture, but somewhere deep down inside him, he felt a tingle of… _something_ that he couldn't place.

He looked at her again and noted the bags under her eyes; she had probably not slept properly for a few days at least. Before long her breathing became extremely steady and her eyelids drooped ceremoniously against her eyes, and she fell asleep.

Wilson smiled at the sight of her, she snored ever so slightly and her mouth was slightly ajar. He rolled her name across his tongue before eventually succumbing to sleep himself wearing a satisfied smile.


	2. Body Warmth, and Stuff

**Body Warmth, and Stuff**

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Willow awoke slowly, her entire body feeling drained and exhausted. She opened her eyes and regarded her surroundings with a weary mind, not truly recalling yesterday's events. She was propped against a large rock, her bottom hurt from the hard floor and she was facing the remnants of a campfire – now nothing more than a few smoking pieces of charcoal and ash.

She tried moving her arms, her right felt fine if a little numb but moving her left sent surges of pain into her torso. She looked at her arm and saw the silk bandages, and within seconds she was up to speed on her situation.

She had been starving, and recklessly tried stealing a Tallbird's egg only to end up ruining it and almost getting herself killed. A man had saved her from the Tallbird, he killed it. He had cleaned her wound with some sort of salve, and then bandaged it afterwards. He fed her some berries and made a fire before the night came. He said his name was Wilson. She looked around for the man but he was nowhere in sight, and suddenly she felt a pang of despair that cut her deeply.

Wilson was gone.

She looked down while the tears welled up in her eyes, and eventually she couldn't hold it any longer and she sobbed pitifully. The first human that she's met in this nightmare that Maxwell put her in, and he abandoned her after saving her? Probably stole my lighter too, she thought bitterly as she felt the reassuring lump missing from her pocket.

Willow chided herself angrily for trusting Wilson; he was probably just another creature sent by Maxwell to torment her. Before she could think of anything nastier to think of him, she felt a slight pressure on her right shoulder and looked up.

It was Wilson, wearing a worried expression on his face combined with an analytical stare as he looked her up or down searching for the source of her discomfort. He checked the bandages that were on her left arm and felt satisfied that they were clean enough to last another day, until they could make their way back to his camp.

"What's wrong, Willow?" he asked seriously as he couldn't find the source of her tears.

Tears streamed down her messy face as she studied him, he was clearly worried about her, even with his impatient and stoic attitude. His cold eyes betrayed sympathy.

Willow composed herself slightly and sniffed a few times, forcing her tears back for a moment.

"I… I thought you left," she said uncertainly.

He felt a pang of guilt as she said those words, even though he knew that 'logically' his decision to leave and find more firewood to cook the Tallbird meat was the correct one, he couldn't help but feel that he failed her in some sort of way. Although not renowned for his compassion in any way, a trip to a different world that tried to kill him on a daily basis could change a man – even one as cold and indifferent as him.

She stared at the ground, feeling pathetic for doubting her saviour so quickly and easily. She felt a hand raise her chin gently, and she looked at Wilson curiously.

"Hush, I won't leave you," he said resolutely.

He used his handkerchief to clean her tear stricken face ever so slightly. She didn't know that it was one of his prized possessions, that he only used it in the rarest of situations for the most delicate matters.

Before long, Willow's face looked a great deal better and his handkerchief a great deal worse: covered in tears, snot and egg from her face. She felt embarrassed for her frank display of emotions and the condition of his handkerchief, but couldn't bring herself to say anything.

He stood up and walked back to the fireplace and laid fresh wood on it, and offered an explanation for his absence.

"We required firewood to cook the meat," he said pointing towards two hefty chunks of Tallbird meat that he cut off hastily with an axe this morning. The cold had proven useful in slowing down the decomposition process almost completely, and they would enjoy fresh food.

Willow watched him fish out her prized possession from his pocket to light the tuft of grass and ignite the fire. Instantly feeling uncomfortable that it was in someone else's hands, she realized she wanted it back as soon as possible without seeming rude. She fiddled with her the hem of her skirt as he went about his business.

"So, how are you feeling? Does your left arm still pain greatly?" he asked as he started cooking their meals.

"Um," she started hesitantly, pausing to wiggle her left fingers and gently moving her left arm a bit, "I'm okay – it just hurts a lot, and I don't think I'll be using it anytime soon."

"Understandable, an injury of that nature would considerably diminish the limb's ability to function."

Now that pain wasn't controlling her, she realized how… scientific Wilson sounded. Even his movements were controlled and even, and something about his posture and analytical eyes further cemented the argument in her mind.

"Are you a scientist?" she inquired respectfully.

He looked up from the meat momentarily, something akin to astonishment in her eyes for a moment before changing to a knowing grin. She instantly felt like a schoolgirl again, and quickly averted her gaze from the man before her.

"Yes, I am…" he said proudly, and then looked as if he was trying to remember something. Suddenly he jumped up and made his way to her and pulled her lighter out of his pocket.

"How does this device function?" he questioned her with a childlike glint in his eye, "Which fluid does it use? I looked around for a hole but found none, and I couldn't detect any particular aroma from the flame itself… maybe if I could open it," he mused softly, more to himself than her.

Now she had no doubt that this man was a scientist, but she wasn't going to let him fiddle around with her lighter, even if he had technically saved her life. She instinctively reached out with her good hand and grabbed her lighter angrily then shot him a fierce glare.

She saw his shocked expression, which hardened quickly and without compassion. The childlike glint was lost as he bore into her eyes with his own dark pools. Suddenly Willow felt incredibly guilty for treating this man so poorly over the course of a day.

"What do you take me for?" he asked gruffly, annoyed that she had doubted him twice already, "A man with no respect for the belongings of others?"

He sighed heavily, "I was merely interested in the workings of your curious lighter, Willow. I have no intentions of stealing or otherwise harming the device. If you do not wish to divulge your secrets to me, I shall accept it."

Grumpily, he walked back to the fire and continued focusing on cooking their food. She noted his intense expression, the persistent bags under his eyes emphasized by his frowning face. He rubbed his chin in thought, feeling the stubble of his beard in the process.

He laid the two prepared pieces of meat on a two small wooden plates, and started cutting them into slices with a shard of flint he fashioned into a sharp knife. She watched him and licked her lips unconsciously, but still felt exhausted and immobile.

After what she thought was an eternity of waiting, he stood up and placed the food in front of her. She watched him start consuming his food, but stopped when he saw she wasn't following suit. He raised his eyebrow questioningly.

"I… I sat on my right arm," she admitted, "and it's numb, so I can't use it – and my left…"

She saw him get up and sit down in front of her, and take her plate of food in his hands. He held up her first slice to her, and gestured it towards her. Being fully present and not about to die from blood loss, she felt quite abashed by his treatment. Wasn't this something couples did?

''It's okay, I'll just wait until I can use my arm again."

"No, eat," he commanded impatiently, before explaining, "I wish for us to return to my camp before the end of the day, and to do so would require haste on our part – waiting for you to regain feeling in your arm would be a waste of time."

She digested his words; he was taking her back to his camp? She felt flattered and giddy, was he really offering to take care of her? It seemed unlikely for this cold husk of a human being, but she remembered how compassionate he was a day ago – when he saved her from the Tallbird. She decided to not question it, lest it be jinxed.

"Okay," she replied.

He lifted the piece of meat to her mouth and neatly propped it inside, ensuring that it wasn't too big to chew uncomfortably. He took a bite from his own piece, and so continued the ritual in silence until they were both halfway finished with their meals.

"… 'm sorry," she apologized between a mouthful.

She saw him look up at her, and his expression softened a fraction. Now he simply seemed weary and exhausted, a man who had never slept enough and had seen countless horrors in this strange new land.

"It's quite alright my dear," she frowned slightly at his term of endearment, "recent events have been taxing – and I am most irritable in these states."

He smiled a wary smile at her, which she returned. They finished the rest of their meal quickly as Willow regained the use of her right hand, and she felt wholly satisfied for having a full stomach for the first time in what felt like years.

Wilson also looked much happier with a full stomach, and he quickly and efficiently packed away his equipment while she watched him. His every move seemed extremely calculated, even yesterday when he was fighting that Tallbird on her behalf. He didn't seem like a fighter – more someone that preferred to think his way out of problems instead of relying on brute force.

"We should get moving, do you think you will have sufficient energy to walk?" he asked her as he slipped on his backpack.

She nodded, she was grateful that her arm was injured and not her leg – she smiled at the silver lining that fate handed her. He helped her up, and when they felt confident she could stand and walk without injuring herself further, they started travelling towards Wilson's camp.

Willow felt the silence somewhat uncomfortable, but she didn't know what to say – he didn't seem much for small talk after his curt responses to her attempts by mentioning the weather. She growled slightly as her last attempt failed.

Wilson let out an exasperated sigh, "Willow, please feel free to ask me whatever you like instead of resorting to typical conversation starters in the form of commenting on the weather – it truly is tiresome."

She took him on up on his offer, with a bit of sarcasm. "Aren't scientists supposed to be curious? I thought you would have asked me a multitude of questions by now." she tried impersonating his haughty tone, but couldn't quite manage it.

"I am curious, yes, but I am also a gentleman. In regards to your recent outburst regarding your lighter, I felt that I would impose on your privacy if I was to bombard you with questions in your current condition – so I am withholding them for your sake, until you feel ready."

Willow was stunted by his honest answer, and the metaphorical cat caught her tongue as she tried to reply. She studied his back as they continued walking, trying to understand this strange human being. He was uncannily logical and this put her off some, but she knew he was capable of compassion and believed him to a good man despite his poor social skills.

"Thanks," came her eventual reply.

"It is not an issue," he assured her, "Ah! Here we are."

He pointed to a place off in the distance; she could just make out the vague resemblance to a campsite. He picked up his pace slightly and she struggled to keep up. Her legs were tired from the consistent walking but she didn't want to bring him any more trouble than she already caused him so she mustered onwards.

The days were getting shorter; even she knew it, and the air becoming colder, staler. Resources were becoming scarcer and she hoped that Wilson had a plan of sorts that would help them survive the winter. That is, if he chose to let her stay with him. She needed to prove that she was useful somehow, but couldn't think of a way that he was not already better at. The only imaginable asset she could think of was her infinite lighter, but that wasn't that much of a help.

As she was contemplating how to convince Wilson to let her join him, they wandered into his camp where he motioned for her to sit down on a stool at a table. She noticed an odd contraption and decided to ask the Gentleman Scientist about it.

"What's that?"

He looked towards where she was pointing, and smiled, "That, my dear, is a 'Science Machine'."

"Science Machine?" she quizzed.

"Yes, it allows for refining of basic materials – using logs to create planks, using straw to create rope and then putting the components together to form something more useful."

She looked at the interesting looking machine, her own curiosity piqued. Something like this would definitely help her survive if she knew how to operate it and even if Wilson wanted her to leave she could at least ask him how to work it and 'refine' some of her own materials first.

"Could you… maybe teach me how to use it?"

Willow looked at the man still sorting his inventory into the relevant places in the chests, and he beamed a million gigawatt grin at her. He didn't think himself much of a teacher, and he despised the effort he needed to use to make students understand his train of thought, but Willow asking him how to do something was something he couldn't find the heart to pass up.

"Anytime, Willow." he said happily.

She blushed at his sincerity, he was truly an interesting man – one moment as hard as stone and the next he could be as soft as a pillow. She frowned at that comparison, and remembered herself snuggling greedily into his shoulder last night.

Her blush deepened.

"An-Anyway," she said, fiddling with the hem of her skirt again, "do you need me to do anything?

He thought of a suitable task for Willow, and then remembered she only had one arm at her disposal for the time being. Yes, that would be simple enough he thought to himself.

"Could you please set up a fire?" he asked pointing to a pile of firewood, "Just set it up, not light it – so when the evening comes we're prepared."

She smiled at the opportunity to be helpful and tended to the task almost giddily, packing the wood in such a way that would insure a warm blaze. If she had any talent, it was understanding fire and in what way things burned best. Not a particularly useful talent, but a talent nonetheless.

Wilson came over and inspected the intriguing manner in which the wood was packed, he had never seen it before, and he looked over at Willow who regarded him sheepishly. In reality she wanted to pile all the wood on the stone campfire and set it ablaze and watch it burn, but that would be a blatant waste of precious resources and she couldn't have Wilson think she was wasteful.

"This way," she explained, "will ensure a steady flame for the night, and it doesn't use so much wood."

He studied the design, she was correct indeed; it was approximately three quarters of the wood he normally used which he considered to be the absolute minimum to ensure the fire would burn all night. But she did seem to have faith in her work and he would trust her in this endeavour.

"Alright," he affirmed and nodded, he looked over to her bandaged arm and realized that the wound would need to be treated again and the bandages replaced. He retrieved his stool and gestured for her to sit on it, which she did, and inspected the wound closely. He asked her to remain sitting while he went to get something.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To get some water, for your wound – and us to drink." he replied.

He wheeled the large wooden barrel contraption that he fashioned out of the trunk of an extremely large tree to the pond approximately a hundred meters away from his campsite, and filled it to the brim with water. He thought all these little ponds were connected in some way, because no matter how much water he took – it would simply go back to its original level.

More of Maxwell's magic he decided, and wheeled the contraption back to where Willow was waiting. She looked at him and then at his device, "You really are a scientist aren't you?"

He smiled modestly at her comment, appreciating her appraisal of his work – though he wanted to say this was nothing and talk about his more ingenious inventions, her wounded needed to be tended to.

Looking in his chest, he found a small wooden bowl that would be used to clean her wound, and two small cups to drink out of. After a few rounds of drinking – it was time to get down to the nasty business of her arm. He noticed she was not looking forward to it, and offered a few words that he hoped would help.

"Do not worry," he waited for her to look at him before he continued, "I have been through far more heinous injuries than that."

That much was true, he remembered how much he limped after a hound bit his leg, and how he had to use crutches to get anywhere without crawling.

"Shall we get started?" he asked as he moved closer to her, then he smelled her and his nose wrinkled involuntarily. She caught his reaction and reacted accordingly, feeling embarrassed _yet again_ for her odour that permeated the air in an aura around her.

Wilson quickly recomposed himself, "perhaps you would like a bath first, milady?" he asked as nicely as he could. She nodded in reply, and he offered the barrel to her. She peered into it and seemed unsure, or rather, hesitant. And she was – she couldn't take her clothes off herself, not the way her arm was.

She cursed herself for being so foolish as to challenge a Tallbird, but thanked it because she wouldn't have found Wilson otherwise – or she doubted it at least. Eventually she relented because she really did need a bath, and her clothes needed a wash too.

"I need help taking my clothes off." she said.

She saw something akin to a blush appear on his face, and smiled to herself. So he isn't completely unfazed by all this. He nodded stiffly in reply. "Start with my shirt," she instructed.

He obliged and started undoing the buttons of her shirt, and gently slipped it off while trying hard to fight off his male instincts and gaze at her chest. Thankfully she was wearing a bra. Next he worked on her stockings, slipping the dirty garments off without question before finally unclipping her skirt. It fell to the ground with an odd finality.

She noticed how nervous he was, and it helped calm her own sense of nervousness, he was so adorable when he was flustered. His eyes darted everywhere except her eyes and body, seeking any excuse to look away. She giggled slightly and slipped into the barrel of icy water, gasping as she did so.

"I'll start the fire," she heard Wilson say, and she nodded. She couldn't wait to be clean and dry. Soon enough she was out, clean, dry, and with new bandages on her arm wearing Wilson's overcoat and sitting in his bedroll in close proximity to the fire.

She noticed Wilson sitting a respectable distance from her, on the ground and shivering slightly. He had taken a bath after her and he was wearing nothing but a pair of polka dot coloured underpants – and acting very shy about it. She didn't think he was a polka dot type of guy.

Their clothes were drying some distance away on a rack that he had set up just for that purpose. She looked at him and felt sorry for him; he went through so much because of her. Willow came to a decision and motioned for Wilson to join her in the bedroll. She was confident that he wouldn't try anything without her explicit permission – and she longed for the touch of another human. And he wasn't all that bad anyway.

He raised his eyebrow in reply to her offer, "Come on, body warmth and stuff," she coaxed jokingly.

Finally he relented and carefully joined her in the bedroll, his back turned towards her for the sake of decency. She shivered as she felt his icy skin press against hers, but warmed up quickly in a matter of minutes.

Willow put her injured arm around his torso, and he gently took in his own and rubbed it soothingly. She giggled again; he really _was_ a gentleman after all. She snuggled closer and buried her face into his back, enjoying the contact before promptly falling asleep knowing she had a gentleman in bed with her.


	3. The Girl Scouts

**The Girl Scouts**

* * *

Wilson was the first to wake; he didn't open his eyes immediately as many people do and relied on his other senses instead as his typical grogginess wore off. First, he inhaled deeply through his nostrils which rewarded him with the scent of smoke and the icy sting of the cold morning air. Then he scuffled around gently in the bedroll, but felt his arms pinned by something. Curious, he flexed his right hand and ended up squeezing something soft which elicited a moan from somewhere nearby.

He opened his eyes.

He was face to face with a Willow still sleeping soundly albeit with a small frown on her face, he noticed what exactly he had cupped in his hand and suddenly felt quite embarrassed and very ungentlemanly. His left arm was slinked underneath her body, embracing the girl's back while his right still grasped shamelessly at her breast.

As gently as he could he disentangled himself without waking her and sat up in the bedroll. He frowned as he inspected his erect manhood – this was definitely not the time to entertain those kinds of thoughts, not that he usually did however.

He simply shrugged the event off as a result of spending weeks alone and suddenly sharing a bed with one of the opposite gender. He rarely felt the primal urge as his heart belonged to science alone.

Wilson got up and quickly raced to his clothing which now hung dry upon the rack. He put them on in frenzy, fighting off the cold as he did so. It had the added benefit of completely removing his erection from sight.

He grabbed Willow's clothes from the rack and darted back to the bedroll. He put her clothes on it and started preparing a fire. He heard a groan come from the bedroll and noticed Willow was awake and sitting upright with both arms curled around her slender body. He was most pleased that she had regained use of her right arm, which would make her much more useful.

"Good morning Willow," he greeted her cheerfully.

She shifted her gaze from the surroundings and onto him, and then suddenly clasped her arms around her chest. Wilson laughed somewhat mockingly. People would always have the capacity to feel abashed.

"Morning," she replied.

Though as he recalled the events of last night, he remembered being quite embarrassed him at her offer of sharing the bedroll. He frowned; it was difficult being a Gentleman Scientist, an inherent contradiction, a paradox if nothing else.

Satisfied with the placement of the logs he turned to Willow.

"May I please temporarily make use of your lighter Willow?" She fumbled around in the bedroll, looking for the device that she pleaded to take to bed the evening prior.

Obviously a tool that conjured fire out of seemingly nothing was a force to be reckoned with. Wilson did not wish to wake up to a blistering heat due to the device malfunctioning and setting them alight while they slept, but Willow had pleaded and he relented.

"Here you go," she said, "how did you sleep?"

He took the device from her outstretched hand and promptly lit the fire, "Remarkably well, and yourself?" He didn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly. She smiled at his question.

"Pretty well actually," she looked at the fire burning steadily, "What are we going to do today?"

Wilson pondered that question, what were they going to do today? He definitely wanted to a great deal of things, too much time had been spent inefficiently and winter was nearing. He remembered that he wanted to construct an Alchemy Machine for more advanced contraptions but that he could perform that during the evening at his leisure.

They were running low on food, and it was becoming colder. Suddenly a light flickered in his mind, before shining brightly. He was going to hunt Beefalos today, their wool would allow them to create warm clothing and their meat would make good jerky that would last throughout the winter.

He looked up into the sky; daylight was burning while he waited. He darted towards his equipment and slipped it on in a matter of minutes, ready to set out. Willow watched him curiously, and started quickly slipping on her own clothes as well – intent on following Wilson.

He noticed this and stopped her as she tried putting on her shirt. She looked at him worriedly.

"I will be hunting Beefalos today while you remain here at camp and rest, your wound is looking much better but exertion on your part will dramatically slow the healing process."

"But… but what if, what if something happens to you?" she protested weakly. He smiled and placed his cold hands on her shoulders in what he assumed to be a reaffirming gesture.

"I assure you, I have not survived Maxwell's torment for weeks alone only to be slaughtered a few days after finding another human."

With those words said, Willow hung her head in defeat, knowing that he was completely right in his choices. It still didn't make her feel any better though. She nodded in approval, "Okay," she said.

With that, Wilson set off and waved goodbye to his new friend. He moved quickly to stay warm and studied his map for his last sighting of Beefalo. After approximately half an hour of travelling, he came across a herd. He took out his spear and steeled himself for the battle to come.

After charging and swiping at one of the Beefalos, he ran back from the herd as they charged him, eventually all but the injured Beefalo lost interest and he led it away from the group. They battled furiously, Wilson evading each blow and landing three of his own before evading the next one. He repeated this process three times more. It gained him a ludicrous amount of wool, meat and a few Beefalo horns.

As he stooped to collect his winnings, he heard a malicious voice that he knew all too well behind him. "Say pal, a bit tired are we?" it asked. He ignored the voice and continued packing the spoils.

"What, are you angry with me?" the voice queried, mock offended, "I even gave you a friend to play with." This got Wilson's attention, and he turned to face his tormentor standing proudly in his tweed suit.

"Who is she?" he asked.

"Oh, I have your attention now?"

"Who is she?" Wilson pressed again.

The figure laughed mockingly, "I'll tell you this pal, she's a girl with a taste for fire – and she _will_ be your demise." Maxwell faded out of existence haughtily, leaving behind a bewildered Wilson.

A taste for fire Wilson mused as he slipped on his bag; he would have to ask her about that later when he got back to camp. Walking to a tree in the distance, something caught his eye as he slipped out his axe.

A suspicious dirt pile.

"Yes!" he yelled in excitement. He set off at a lightning pace, uncovering each pile and following the tracks and finding the perpetrator.

The Koalefant stood a few metres in front of him, eyeing him carefully. Wilson remembered how shy these creatures were and felt sorry for the deed he was about to commit. He slipped the boomerang out of his backpack and tossed it in his hands testing the tool.

He gave the creature one long final look before heftily throwing the boomerang towards it. It hit the creature on its elongated trunk and returned to Wilson, who caught it with practiced ease. The Koalefant grunted in anger and charged towards Wilson who sported his spear prepared for battle.

After a few minutes of combat, Wilson emerged victorious and quickly stripped the animal of its edible meat and its trunk. He was pleased by his progress today, but frowned when a solitary snow flake landed on his nose.

Time was of the essence, they would need a great deal more firewood to survive the winter. He hoped that there was still sufficient firewood at his camp and Willow was using it sparingly. There was a small group of trees close to his camp that he used as a contingency plan if no other was available, but he didn't want to tap into his emergency resource just yet.

He surveyed the sky and calculated he had approximately three hours of daylight left, and needed to put them to good use. He spent those hours collecting grass tufts, twigs, wood and came across some green mushrooms and two carrots that would make tonight's meal so much more enjoyable.

Wilson smiled contentedly and whistled a tune while starting the long trek back to his camp.

Back at the camp, Willow had spent the dreary hours in a combination of hopeful anticipation and worried suspense. She knew that Wilson was too smart to fall for anything, like stealing a Tallbird's egg she noted with a certain measure of dejection. She had ended up cleaning up the campsite a great deal. She sorted out his chests, packed away his equipment and maintained some of his tools. She had even made some basic cutlery and utensils from planks that were far better than Wilson's. The campsite looked a great deal homier after her touch, and she smiled at the thought.

Now she sat on the bedroll facing the campfire wearing a dreamy expression on her face. Fire would never fail her. She dipped her hand into the flames, and removed it a few moments later completely unscathed. Not even her clothes were scorched.

Unfortunately in her bliss she did not notice that Wilson had returned and he watched the girl with both curiosity and fear as she performed the feat once more. So this is what Maxwell meant by a 'taste for fire'. No longer able to tolerate her blatant disregard for basic laws of combustion, he spoke.

"Hello Willow,"

She jumped a bit at the voice, unused to being interrupted. She turned around and faced him, taking notice that he was eyeing her carefully. He looked uncharacteristically timid and she sighed. The cat was out of the bag, and no amount of coaxing could get it back in. He would demand answers.

"Hello Wilson," came her hesitant greeting.

"Now," he started firmly, reclaiming authority "I am obviously very curious as how you managed to perform that feat, but I shall save it for later after dinner. I am positively starving and believe that you are too. Would you kindly do me the honour of cooking this while I work on something?" he asked and pointed to the food that was carefully laid on a tree stump.

"I believe that your talent would be most beneficial in this instance." he grinned playfully, and she let out a genuine, unrestrained laugh.

Normally people would shy away from a girl with an ability like hers and a few hundred years ago she would have been burnt at the stake on accounts of witchcraft. She laughed at the irony in that statement too.

Wilson was happy that he could release the tension in the atmosphere with his well worded comment, and it had the added benefit of hearing her laugh. It sounded very childish and there were a couple of snorts in between the bouts of laughter but it made his entire being feel lighter and more energetic.

He left Willow to prepare the food and went off to prepare their winter clothing. He fashioned a Breezy vest out of the Koalefant's trunk and a great deal of spider silk, and two Beefalo hats for them both. His silk reserves were almost depleted, and he was going to have to harvest more soon which meant facing spiders. He did not like spiders and chose to ignore the idea for the time being.

The Alchemy Machine was next on his list, and it took him twenty minutes to assemble completely. Then exhaustion overwhelmed him, and just in time too. Willow called out to him that the food was prepared and he promptly joined her by the campfire. They had enough wood to last two weeks after his trip.

"Here you go," she said and handed him a wooden plate with some roasted carrot, some mushroom and perfectly cooked meat. She saw him dubiously inspecting the plate, "I made that from some spare wood, I hope you don't mind?" she asked hopefully.

He looked up to her, she couldn't read his expression, "You made this?" he asked.

She nodded and swallowed a lump that was forming in her throat, worried that she had crossed some line in the scientist's book.

"This is…" she tensed and shut her eyes, "fine craftsmanship Willow. Where did you learn how to do this?"

"The Girl Scouts," she replied, gaining back her good cheer. He scoffed at her answer but she didn't mind, a compliment goes a long way in her heart, "I can also make show you how to make a tent if you'd like."

"That would be most useful Willow," he said as he leaned back to retrieve a small wooden container that he placed on the wooden stump between them, she raised her eyebrow in question.

"Honey," he explained smiling, "today is a special occasion and I thought it would be a good time to indulge ourselves a bit."

She smiled and they both dug into their food quickly. Wilson devoured his food extremely quickly; a day of manual labour sapped his strength greatly. He sat back and tossed another log onto the fire, and watched Willow slowly consume her meal. She seemed to be savouring every bite.

"So, would you care to explain the trick behind your inability to burn?" he asked as she finished her last bite. She scuffled around nervously, trying to think of the best way to answer the question. She really didn't know exactly how it worked – it was simply an ability inherent in her.

"It's complicated," she said at last.

Obviously this answer was unsatisfactory to any scientist, and especially one of his calibre, "Complicated is fine – explain," he stated curtly.

"I, well, you see," she dubiously said before settling on a simple statement, "I can't,"

Before Wilson could interject she continued, "I was born with this trait, and I've only recently discovered it but the basic gist of it is that I can't be burned – nor can anything on my person be burned either."

He seemed to ponder this for a moment, "I see. So that is the reason behind your clothes remaining completely unscathed when you put your hand in the fire?" she nodded, and he rubbed his beard in thought.

"Intriguing," he said after a while, "I have no doubt that this talent of yours will be useful in some circumstances in the future."

She paused and studied him closely, was he really planning to partner up with her? Sure she could be useful but she saw herself more of a burden than a blessing to this scientist. She decided to address the issue now, she didn't want to build her hopes up and then allow them to be crushed later.

"Does this mean we're partners now or…?"

He looked at her and confusion crossed his face before he went into a bout of explanation.

"Well, you see my dear, I was wondering – no, I was hoping that you'd consider joining me? I have spent too long alone in this horrifying place, and I believe some company will do us both some good. I have no ill intentions, I am bound by my honour as a gentleman and I ensure you I will not make any heinous requests on your behalf, but you will have to help me with work around the camp…"

He continued to babble and Willow watched him happily, a smile creeping its way onto her face. He was such a dork, a goofy dork that made way to many hand gestures when he was explaining something. She noted the tingle gently plucking her heartstrings, but not the happy tears welling up in her eyes.

"Wilson," she said softly.

He continued babbling, gesturing left and right but not turning to face her.

"Wilson," she repeated louder. He stopped and looked at her, a worried expression replacing his nervous one when he saw the tears in her eyes.

"Willow, are you alright? You're not hurt are you?" he looked at her bandaged arm, it looked clean and didn't need to be replaced anytime soon – he could even forego it completely but he didn't want to risk it.

She shook her head almost violently, and sniffed. "No, no I'm alright," she affirmed, "I'm just so happy." He still looked confused to her, tears weren't supposed to be an indication of happiness he thought.

"Of course I'll be your partner, silly." She said.

Wilson never liked being called foolish, and silly was one of the many ways of indicating a person was foolish. This time he did not mind it so much, and smiled happily at Willow. He embraced her tenderly without thinking. She returned the gesture.

They broke away after a few minutes of comfortable silence. He looked at the dwindling fire and tossed another two logs on it, and let out a yawn. He could barely keep his droopy eyes open. He said that it would be a good time to sleep, Willow agreed.

She sat confused in the bedroll as she watched him skulk towards his workbench tiredly. Wasn't he coming to bed?

"Wilson?"

"Yes?"

"Where are you going?"

"To craft another bedroll, I have the relevant supplies so there's really no excuse…" the last word was extended by a yawn, "I couldn't impose on you further than I already have."

A gentleman to the end Willow thought and shook her head, "No, remember, body warmth?" she said, only half joking.

She felt comforted by his presence and close proximity last night, and she wanted to abuse it without seeming indiscreet. 'Body warmth' was becoming the noble excuse to share a bedroll. She didn't know whether or not Wilson enjoyed the contact as well, and she bit her lip as she watched him contemplate his decision.

Wilson really wanted to climb into the bedroll with her, only because the heat was comforting, he assured himself. He knew it was a lie but he was stubborn in admitting anything. His gentleman code forbids him from taking advantage of a girl, but she was offering…

Another wave of exhaustion hit him and he made his decision. He climbed into bed with her and they relaxed far quicker than the previous evening. He felt a lump of something jut into his side, and he grunted a bit.

He retrieved the offending object and looked at it, it was Willow's lighter.

"Oh, sorry," she said as she saw his disgruntled but curious face. He offered no immediate reply.

"Willow, may I ask you a question?"

"Mm yes,"

"Is this lighter somehow connected to your resistance to flame?"

A small silence ensued, "I think so… I don't know, I just know that somehow that it's very important, and if it were to break… I don't know what would happen."

Wilson frowned, and then smiled as realization hit him, "Is that why you were so defensive when I said something about opening it?"

A pause, then he could feel her nodding slowly into his back, the hair tickling him somewhat. He felt wholly satisfied with the day and in better spirits than he could ever remember since he was transported to this nightmarish realm.

"I understand, thank you. Good night Willow."

"Good night Wilson."

They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, each a prisoner to their own thoughts about the other. Curiosity gnawed at Willow as she wondered what they were going to do tomorrow, so she decided to ask Wilson, hoping he was still awake.

"Wilson?"

"Mm?"

"What are we going to do tomorrow?" she asked, and eventually thought he had fallen asleep on her. Just as she started drifting away, she heard his reply.

"We're going to make a tent."


	4. Snowball Fight

**Snowball Fight**

* * *

"No, not like that, like this," Willow demonstrated the knot for the umpteenth time, seeming to take joy in the fact that the Gentleman Scientist was having difficulty with something. She watched him struggle with the rope, manipulating it incorrectly, and pulling it tight with a mess of a knot in the middle.

What had begun as a simple exercise for Willow to teach Wilson some of her Girl Scout skills after mutually constructing the tent together had escalated into a battle for him to prove himself. She had soon learned that he might have the brains but didn't have the hands to transmute some of his ideas into reality, especially with tying the more complex knots that she excelled at.

The Winter had carried on long, and they were running short

After watching him fail again, she decided it was time they took a break.

"How about we take a break, and come back to this a bit later?" she offered sincerely.

His intense eyes stared at the rope he held in his hands, almost trying to will it to form the correct knot. He however, understood his limitations and decided something less 'hands-on' would be a welcome change. He wanted to blame his failures on the cold and state that his fingers were too numb to work in the manner he wished them to, but doubted Willow would buy that lie.

"Yes, fine," he agreed grumpily. Willow knew that when he resorted to short simple sentences, he was annoyed. Wilson dropped the rope on the table, stood up and stretched his muscles. He looked at Willow and studied her appearance.

Her messy hair stood in its signature twin tail style that he found amusing, and she was wearing the puffy vest he had crafted last night with a few adjustments she made, per her request. He adjusted his own – he couldn't quite get the smell of Beefalo out of them but they provided plenty of warmth so he was satisfied.

"Let's go check the traps." she said.

He nodded and they slipped on their gear, a backpack with some food and fire-starting materials. A Beefalo Hat and spear each completed the ensemble, making them look to be two rugged survivors. Wilson saw how Willow's nose crinkled as she put on the hat, and he laughed. She stared at him with mock anger.

"You're a scientist, can't you remove the smell from these?" she queried teasingly.

"You're an entity that is completely immune to fire, can't you conjure fire out of nothing sparing the strain on our firewood?" he did his best to impersonate her teasing tone, and by her narrowed gaze he decided it was mocking enough. Unbeknownst to her, he made a mental note to try out an herbal soap he made from some berries on the hats back to improve their fragrance when they returned.

The wind ripped mercilessly through the frozen tundra. They retrieved their thermal stones that lay by the fire and started on their journey. Wilson had lightened up a considerable degree to her, and they exchanged idle chit-chat regarding Wilson's ever growing beard that he refused to shave.

"You should really shave that you know," she teased, "you're starting to look like a lumberjack."

"No, it provides good insulation against the cold, and is therefore a valuable asset."

"Hmph, look at me, I don't have a beard and I'm fine." She countered.

"But once again I must remind you that you are immune to fire, and are able to curl up _inside_ the campfire." Wilson didn't mention how unnerving the action was the first time he saw Willow perform it.

"Psh, you're just annoyed that I accidentally," he narrowed his eyes at her at the last word which made her roll her own to him, "yes, _accidentally_, lit your hair on fire." She said the last words in a guilty flurry that made them sound intelligible.

The event was rather amusing in hindsight, and she tried suppressing a snicker as she looked at Wilson's slightly singed hair. After a nap in the campfire a few hours ago, she joined Wilson who was working at his workbench on the blueprints to their tent. As usual there were a few embers on her person that she flicked off without worrying where they landed up – after all she wasn't scared of fire.

One of them had landed on Wilson's hair and it took to fire in a matter of seconds. It lead to an interesting display of him flailing about wildly, and her tripping him so that he would land face first in the snow to extinguish the fire. He was not pleased by her actions and he gave her a very stern talking-to that left her on the verge of tears, she was a frail flower in some senses.

He gave her some meaningless chore and told her not to bother him, and she did so. A few minutes later of sulking and shovelling snow later, she felt his hand on her shoulder and a guilty expression on his face. He held something in his hand and offered to her, she accepted it.

On closer inspection she found out what it was: a flower neatly and cleverly frozen in a chunk of ice, with some sort of electrical doodad keeping it from melting. He had apologized for admonishing her in such a brutish manner, but politely insisted that she should be more careful with fire from now on, for his sake.

Obviously she obliged and their relationship was mended again. She couldn't help but notice that he had two distinctive personalities, one cold and unforgiving, and another compassionate and caring. She liked the latter better.

"An accident, of course," he scoffed, feeling much better about the incident already.

"Still, you should shave," she continued unabated. She didn't admit that she wanted him to shave because it bothered her when she slept, lest he decide to keep his beard and craft himself another bedroll. She was used to enduring, and she could endure sharing a bed with a stubborn scientist who refused to shave his beard.

This problem originated this morning when she woke up to a slumbering Wilson and found him embracing her, a hand comfortably grasping her bottom and a great big bushy beard in her face. Normally she would have slapped the man who dared invade her space like that, but he was asleep and therefore not fully in control of himself… and it felt oddly comforting.

She pretended to continue sleeping and eventually Wilson awoke, she felt his breath catch and his being tense momentarily. Then he had slipped his arms that gently held her away, with a certain amount of reluctance. It took all her willpower not to pout as she felt his warmth dissipating from her.

Both of them had pretended nothing had happened as they tended to their morning chores.

"I shall consider it," he stated curtly, ending the conversation – or so he thought.

Willow had a sudden idea, and was trying her best not to laugh, but Wilson noticed and waited for an explanation of sorts.

"I bet it would make fine kindling," she blurted out, and started laughing.

He eyed her sceptically. "Must you insist on using my hair for your pyromaniac purposes?"

The trees that surrounded the duo wore a thick coat of snow, and they were passing under a few large evergreens at the moment. Willow stopped under one of them, "I can't resist it. Just a moment please, I think I've got something in my boot."

Wilson sighed in exasperation. Women were such difficult creatures to work with; a male companion would have been preferable. More work would have been completed, and fewer issues would crop up. However… a woman had some skills that a man did not.

He shuddered, why would he entertain such trivial notions? This woman did not interest him, could not, he was already devoted to science and the discovery of new things. Why would a female pyromaniac be the object of his fancy? He has lived alone for countless years without seeking the company of a woman – why now?

Again, he tossed the question into the attic of his brain, noting that he was doing that much more as of late. He looked at Willow who was still fiddling with her boot while muttering something under her breath. A slight gust of wind lightly nudged one of the tree's branches tipping off just a bit of snow.

Wilson noticed. He smiled deviously as the opportunity for revenge presented itself to him.

Willow was finished with finding the damned twig that somehow got into her shoe. She smiled as she turned to face Wilson. It faded as she saw his mischievous Cheshire grin.

"I'm finished, we can…" she said uncertainly. Wilson flung a small pebble to the tree behind her, and it hit. Confused, she turned to the tree and back to him. He continued smiling.

"What was tha-"

A ridiculous amount of snow fell on her and enveloped her completely. Wilson laughed. She was sitting on her bottom with her hands placed behind her, processing what had happened. Wilson had _pranked _her.

Furiously, she lifted herself out of the snow and walked to the laughing Wilson. She put on a very thin smile. He held his hands out in a peaceful manner and tried to compose himself. Willow shivered slightly, though internally seething with anger.

"I'm terribly sorry my dear, but revenge is a dish best served _cold_."

He laughed hysterically at his pun pleased at his own wit. Before he could indulge in the act any longer, he felt a snowball hit his face. He blinked thrice clearing both his eyes and mind. Wilson turned to Willow. He saw her wearing an insane smile and another snowball in her hand.

"We can settle this like adul-"

His sentence was interrupted when he had to dodge the other snowball. She offered no words. He gingerly plunged his own hand into the snow, watching her intently all the while, and made his own snowball.

And so began their first snowball fight.

They traded blows evenly, so to speak, and both of them were left wheezing after the continued exertion. Now they stood three meters from each other. Each holding a snowball.

"Why… don't… we call… it a day?" Wilson wheezed out between haggard breaths.

"No… we'll finish this… today," Willow replied equally as out of breath.

As Willow finished her statement she threw her snowball at Wilson who evaded narrowly. Before he could reply in kind, he felt Willow tackle him and fell to the ground. She kept his arms pinned down with her own and straddled him to keep him from escaping.

She leaned down to his face, scarce an inch apart, and smiled tiredly. "I win," she declared.

Wilson was not as caught up in the competitive nature as she was, and thus noticed their compromising position before her. He struggled to keep his instincts in check, but couldn't help becoming just a bit flustered.

"Y-yes, you w-win," he said urgently, hoping she would climb off soon. She saw his eyes travel between her and their position. Slowly the gears started turning in her head, and so returned her modesty.

Frantically she removed herself from him. She watched him get up and dusted the snow off of her. She tugged at the hem of her skirt absentmindedly. After Wilson was satisfactorily snow free, she turned to him and gave a slight bow of her head.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He smiled at her apparent guilt and cleared his throat to speak. "It is no problem, I assure you… I also enjoyed it."

Her heart skipped a beat, did he mean the snowball fight or the position they were in a moment ago? Before she could question him on it, he cleared his throat again and replied.

"I think we should make haste, our recent activities have drained a significant portion of our remaining day, it would be prudent to check our traps and return home as soon as possible."

She nodded her approval, and they set off again. They travelled in absolute silence – each piecing together their thoughts like a puzzle. But they couldn't finish the puzzle. Some pieces were missing, and the other person would have to give supply them.

They checked the traps. They caught three rabbits.

"Not the best haul, but sufficient." Wilson remarked as they took the rabbits.

"Looks like we'll be doing rabbit stew tonight." Willow observed neutrally.

"Perhaps, I have thought of another use for them though,"

Willow raised her eyebrow in question. "Oh?"

"Yes, you shall have to wait and see however," he remarked casually, piquing her interest.

"Then I'll wait and see."

Back in camp at last, they put away their gatherings and slipped into their newly created tent. Wilson was pleased by the design, having just enough space to be comfortable while insulated from the cold. Willow's Girl Scout skills had proven to be invaluable in its creation. It was sturdy and solid against the wind and snow.

In the centre hung a lantern, filled with fireflies that would provide much needed light. Wilson had been quite adamant about the 'no fire allowed' rule to Willow who would happily flick her lighter open at any given moment.

"Can't wait to give this baby a test run!" Willow stated happily, taking off the stuffy Beefalo Hat. Her hair was a mess.

"I concur, our rest should be revitalizing tonight. Would you prepare our lodgings? I shall prepare the food."

With that, Wilson left the tent with a conflicted Willow inside of it. She stared meekly towards the centre of the tent, where there was more than enough space for two bed rolls.

_Maybe I should just tell him that there aren't enough materials to create another bedroll? No, he wouldn't fall for that. Perhaps if I 'accidentally' burnt them? No, he'd be pretty mad at wasting resources. I can't believe I actually want to share a bed so desperately with this guy._

Relenting, she placed the bedroll in the centre of the room and enlarged it thoroughly, so that it would fit two people comfortably. She also crafted two pillows out of the remaining straw. Wilson called out to her, and she stepped out of the tent.

It had stopped snowing and Wilson was cheerfully waving her over to the fireplace. He was seated on a large log they used for a chair. She took her seat beside him.

"Bon appetit mademoiselle," he said as he gestured for her to dig in. They were having rabbit soup, while not the best; it was certainly a change of pace from the Beefalo Jerky they had made.

"Thanks," came her reply. She tasted the soup, it was sweet and tangy. Nothing like the broth she was expecting. She looked at her scientist for explanation.

"Sweet isn't it?" he asked rhetorically, "I used a fair amount of honey and fermented berries to improve the flavour. One becomes weary of the same taste again and again…"

"It's delicious, really, where did you come up with it?"

"It was a mere hypothesis that I developed as I thought about our dinner this evening. Evidently it was a good one."

The rest of their dinner passed peacefully, they exchanged titbits of small talk. Wilson prepared the large pot that they bathed in while Willow cleaned the dishes. After tending to their various needs and such, they both entered the tent in a jolly mood.

Wilson saw that there was only a single bedroll.

He noticed Willow shifting her feet nervously, still fiddling with the hem of her skirt. She was not meeting his gaze. Confused but not unhappy, he tried to lend a helping hand.

"Body warmth?" he queried innocently.

Willow looked at him and nodded vigorously. It was decided. She climbed into the bedroll while Wilson covered the firefly lantern with some straw, mitigating the light. The tent was covered in a comfortable gloom that felt homey if nothing else.

He delicately joined the pyromaniac in the bedroll, giving her a gentlemanly amount of space much to her chagrin and his. She wanted to feel the comfort of his warmth, wanted to be held, but stubborn pride forbade her from asking.

Wilson mustered some courage, "Willow?" he called.

"Mm?"

"Would it be presumptuous of me if I asked to move closer to you? Our combined body warmth at this distance is severely limited, you see, and if we were to close the distance it would increase exponentially. However, if you do not wish it then I shall understand…"

She was dumbstruck, maybe he really did like her after all she thought. He was asking if she wouldn't mind cuddling, in his own Wilson-y way.

"Uh, uh," she started; Wilson misinterpreted the hesitancy in her voice and his heart fell.

"It is no trouble my dear, I understand. Forgive my intrusion." he said careful to keep his disappointment out of his tone. He resolved to craft his own bedroll tomorrow as his cold demeanour started to return.

"No! It's just, well, no – I mean," she said urgently not wanting to paint the wrong picture in Wilson's carefully constructed mind.

"I do want you to, come closer I mean," Wilson's listened intently, curious, "that's kind of the reason I made this bed roll… I just thought you wouldn't want to."

"You've been so nice to me and everything. Even though I don't have much to offer – I'm not as smart as you, and not as strong either."

Before she could continue, she felt Wilson's hands on her shoulders bringing her upright face to face with his intense eyes.

"My dear, please do not doubt your self-worth. You have been exceptionally useful, both in terms of companionship and with construction of intricate things. My mind may be sharp but without the ability to physically craft these ideas… they are worthless in Maxwell's domain." he lessened his firm grip and brought them to her arms, still not letting go.

"Before you came along, I was sitting on the crevice of depression and insanity, about to fall in and lose to this strange place. You came and rekindled my spirit, and I will be ever thankful. Your presence makes the dullest of tasks vastly more interesting. That is the truth."

Words cannot do justice to the immense relief Willow experienced at these words. Nor could she say anything in reply. So she just buried her face in his chest and hugged him tightly. A minute or two passed while Wilson waited patiently. It was a touching moment, even for the usually cold scientist.

"Thank you Wilson," she said finally.

"You need not thank me, my dear, I am simply telling you the truth," he said and then stopped in thought, "Shall we get to bed? Tomorrow will be a trying day and today has left me drained, especially that snowball fight."

"It's your fault though," she countered regaining her cheer, "You _started it_ when you buried me in snow!"

"No, it was you who _started it_ by setting me alight."

They bantered for a bit before settling into a much more comfortable position with Wilson spooning Willow. Neither seemed to mind. Slumber beckoned them both and demanded that they fall asleep, and they did, playfully arguing all the while.

Both had pleasant dreams.


	5. Spider Hunting

**Spider Hunting**

* * *

Wilson knew what he needed to do today, but that didn't make him look forward to it. Their clothes were in desperate need of repair, lest they completely deteriorate and become beyond repair. He sighed as he wearily put on his ensemble.

He was going spider hunting today.

He detested the creatures; even back in the real word he hated studying arachnids. There was just something uncanny about these strategic opportunists that bothered him on a primal level. His fear didn't improve when he found himself facing mammal sized ones in this accursed place.

Though, it was a necessary deed for their much desired silk. He wanted to curse himself for not gathering more, but the recent strain on his silk could not be accounted for. He didn't expect to find someone else in this place, and hunting the damned creatures in the midst of winter was a ploy that bordered on foolish.

At least they weren't poisonous; he recalled the heinous bite that one gave him not too long ago. It was excruciatingly painful but none of his bodily functions stopped working, as he would expect of venom. There was always a silver lining – you just needed to take the time to find and appreciate it.

As he concentrated planning the details to his trip today, a soft scuffle roused him out of his stupor. He turned on his stool towards the center of the tent. He saw Willow shuffling around, and then wrapping the covers more tightly around her body, probably accounting for the loss of heat since he left.

Last night's events took an interesting turn, and he felt slightly gleeful in what should have been a morbid atmosphere. She truly was a light, a wonderful, bright light in a world of darkness. He scoffed at himself. Once upon a time he would have thought himself above these honeyed words that he was using so casually. Priding himself on his cold and determined conduct, he felt odd with the change in personality, but it was not unwelcome – just different.

He turned to the small table that he brought in minutes ago, and studied his creation – rabbit earmuffs. After noting the difficulties Willow had with her Beefalo hat and her long hair, he decided it would be a good gesture to create something that she could wear around camp without disrupting her hair too greatly.

He pondered how she would handle his decision of going spider hunting; he had briefly considered lying to her but the notion was crushed rapidly after being conceived. He would not lie to Willow. Obviously he didn't wish to bring her along for the trip – hoping that she'd choose to stay instead while he performed the somewhat dangerous task, but he had a feeling the discussion would not go so smoothly.

Another scuffle, she was starting to wake up. He patiently waited for her to get her bearings as she sat up. He saw her study him with sleepy eyes, she did take a while to come up to speed when she woke up – but he needed to hasten it just a bit.

"Good morning Willow," he supplied.

It seemed to do the trick. She sat up straighter and opened her eyes a great deal wider, "Morning Wilson," she greeted hesitatingly, "why are you up so early?"

"I am going spider hunting today, and I will have to leave early if I hope to make it back before night fall."

"You're going sp-spider _hunting_?" she asked, not hiding her disbelief in the slightest.

"Yes, our silk reserves are depleted – and it is important that we have enough to maintain our winter apparel."

"But, but, but," she struggled to find an adequate response, "that's crazy! You'll die!"

Slightly agitated, "I will not die Willow, I have done this before – and it is necessary to ensure our long term survival."

They regarded each other for a long moment, Wilson hoping that she would see reason and logic and allow him to depart, Willow trying to find a reasonable argument to invalidate his. Unfortunately she found none, and knew he was stubborn beyond help in some manners. She would have to try a different tactic.

"Fine," he blinked in surprise, he figured it would surely take more than that to convince her, "but I'm going with you."

"Absolutely not," he rebutted immediately.

"It's either that or you don't go," she stated commandingly.

Frustration bloomed into anger, "Why do you insist so? It will be easier if I perform this task alone!"

"It's too dangerous," she persisted, "I'm not letting you do this alone."

"You will become a liability if you come with me."

She winced slightly – he knew where to hit so that it would hurt. Still, her determination remained firmly in place. She would not allow Wilson to undertake this task alone – she had enough of being alone, couldn't stand it anymore.

"I'm not changing my mind," she stated as firmly as she could, pursing her lips together in a slightly amusing manner to keep them from wavering.

He deliberated for a moment, he might be able to tell her he would stay and slink off when she wasn't watching. No, that would not work, he had already laid out his hand and she would be watching him closely for any signs of deception should he stay the day. He could use brute force to overwhelm her, and force her to stay, but he didn't know with what means and it violated his code as a gentleman.

Either way, daylight was burning and he needed to make a decision. He chose to submit.

"Fine," he said coldly, "you have ten minutes then we leave."

He slipped on his winter clothing and stepped out of the tent, giving Willow some privacy and himself some desired space. Allowing another to dictate his decisions was maddening; he was a being that thrived being in control. He yearned it, needed it. When someone took it away, he was more than slightly peeved.

After seven minutes Willow stumbled out of the tent in a very haphazard manner, clothes hastily put on and ponytails not properly aligned. A few minutes ago Wilson would have made an amusing remark about her state of disarray, but he wasn't in the mood.

"Ready?" he queried.

"Ready." she affirmed, trying to fix her hair under the Beefalo hat.

Wilson set off with a wanton pace, leaving a very disorderly Willow to catch up in erratic breaks. Eventually satisfied with her appearance so that she wouldn't have to stop every few seconds to fix something, she ran and caught up with Wilson still agitatedly trudging through the snow. She waited to catch her breath before she spoke.

"Chilly, isn't it?"

"Yes quite," he stated curtly before he stopped walking for a moment to give something to her.

She took the object from him, curious, she inspected it. It was a pair of rabbit earmuffs. She quirked an eyebrow in question, he noticed.

"For you, so that your hair isn't in such a state of disarray whenever you take off the Beefalo hat." he explained in a monotone as he started walking again.

Willow slipped off her Beefalo hat and tried the rabbit earmuffs on, a little bit shoddy on the crafting but he had probably wanted to surprise her. A frown crept onto her face as she followed him through the snow. The earmuffs muffled the world around her slightly, and she could hear her heartbeat with uncanny clarity.

She had annoyed him, dropping that ultimatum on him like that. Men rarely liked ultimatums, and she had a feeling Wilson had liked them even less. Silence was the smart choice here and she took it. His gaze was fixed on the unseen destination ahead, and his unwillingness left both alone to their thoughts.

Never truly a dominant person herself, she felt nervous and awkward giving him such a blunt command. Women usually disguised their demands as subtle requests to get what they wanted. She had not done so. But she would not let him go alone; he had become an important figure in her life already. Even though they only knew each other for a short while thus far, and their personalities differed greatly, they got along amazingly.

Wilson had a curiosity about him that only scientists and young children possessed, and Willow found it a captivating quality. She would watch him with fascination as he recorded his various findings and ideas into a makeshift journal she fashioned him out of some papyrus.

Even with his generally stoic attitude, he had lightened up considerably towards her. She smiled at the pun, 'lightened up'. Consequently, he happened to be a very thoughtful man. Surprising her with a myriad of gifts and such, each that solved a particular problem she was having.

Tired of the horrible odor of dung from the nearby Beefalo? A bouquet of flowers. Weary of the same tasting meaty broth? Improve it with some honey and berries. Irritated with having your hair messed up every time you put on a hat? Replace it with a pair of rabbit earmuffs.

They continued traveling for about two hours in silence. Wilson was following a very awkward path, she realized that he was sticking to the cobblestone road hidden under the blanket of snow. It provided remarkable traction and thereby allowed them to progress significantly faster.

"Thanks, for the earmuffs I mean," she said between huffs, "How long until we get there?"

"Approximately another hour or so," he replied, before adding "Provided we keep this pace, that is."

Her eyes widened, there was no way she would be able to keep this pace for another four hours. Apparently Wilson saw her reaction and sighed, "Would you like to take a break? We can rest if you are tired."

"No, I'm fine," he watched her carefully, seeking further confirmation, she was huffing quite thoroughly, "Really, we can keep going."

"On your word," he said casually, and then continued onwards. Willow could be vexing at times, he had clearly informed her that she would only be a hindrance in this operation but she had demanded to accompany him. Now here she was, already fatigued but refusing to take a break. Such stubborn pride.

Mercilessly, he marched onwards without decreasing speed. He was slightly winded from exertion but his body had adapted to the harsh conditions during the initial weeks of his arrival. His stamina had improved drastically.

_It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is most adaptable to change._

These words became his mantra as he traversed this unforgiving landscape in his initial weeks, and he did adapt. A crash from behind derailed him from his current train of thought, and he turned around.

Willow had fallen in the snow. All past disparities instantly forgotten, he rushed over to her side. She was struggling to get up. He tentatively scooped her up, propping her up with one of his hands like he did during their first encounter.

Willow noted the genuine flash of concern in his eyes, and looked away feeling ashamed. She had insisted that she accompany him, and as he informed her, she was a burden. Still, she would not have had it any other way. He helped her up and they stood watching each other.

"Let's take a break," he decided.

"No, really, I can go-"

"I insist," he said firmly, ending the discussion. Willow was happy for it; she didn't know how long she could argue about continuing when her legs so desperately wanted her to stop.

They walked to a withered tree, and Wilson retrieved his shovel and shoveled away most of the snow from the base of the tree. He gestured for Willow to sit down, which she did. Then he proceeded to clear a space for a fire. Finished packing the wood, he turned to Willow who held out her lighter. He took it and they exchanged a small smile.

With the fire lit and burning enthusiastically, he joined Willow and sat next to her. The proximity did not bother Wilson, but Willow felt somewhat disappointed in her lackluster physical abilities. As she sat brooding, Wilson noticed and decided that it was a suitable time to talk.

"I would be lying to say that I have no qualms about you accompanying me," he waited for her to look at him, "But you being a 'burden', as I put it, is not the main issue."

He exhaled, "I fear for your wellbeing, your safety, that is my main concern."

Willow felt happy and annoyed simultaneously, happy that Wilson was concerned for her, annoyed that he did not trust she could take care of herself. In retrospect, he did meet her barely scraping by. But that was because her camp and belongings burnt down in a fire she accidentally started after eating a green mushroom.

Still, she refuted grumpily, "I can take care of myself."

His eyebrows scrunched in irritation, before he willed himself to relax. She had indeed proved herself capable in various survival aspects, but he had not seen her in combat before, not since she was attacked by the Tallbird.

"Excuse me for not believing that."

"It's different this time," she contested, "I'm not starved and half-crazy from exertion."

That much was true. Perhaps she did have a point as much as he didn't want to admit it. He was still reluctant however, "Have you been in combat before?" he questioned her.

"Yes I have," he raised an eyebrow, indicating she should continue, "I've hunted several spiders myself, and I've managed to kill a swamp tentacle. I've also got into a fight with some merms but I could only kill one before the rest…"

Wilson stopped listening after he heard 'kill a swamp tentacle' and his brain desperately sought to blame his auditory abilities, somehow thinking he had misheard her.

"Excuse me for interrupting," he said, she looked at him expectantly, "But did you say you _killed_ a _swamp tentacle_?"

She nodded, "Yeah, uh, I did – that isn't bad or anything, is it?"

No, he had heard her just fine, "How on Earth did you manage that?" he asked with a tinge of uncertainty.

"Well, the spiders did most of the work." She said honestly, looking rather abashed. He waited for further explanation.

"I was being chased by them in the swamp, and my spear was almost broken – then I saw the ground moving a few meters in front of me, so I thought: 'Bingo' and lured the spiders to the tentacle, and then they fought and I finished off the swamp tentacle and collected the spoils."

Wilson had listened to her intently, if this was true, she was a resourceful fighter indeed. It was similar to his recollection of performing a similar stunt. Still, it was extremely dangerous. He didn't believe her entirely, perhaps she was leaving out some important details – but he did not want to say it directly.

"That was remarkably… practical of you, luring the spiders to the tentacle like that."

She smiled at the supposed compliment, "Yeah I know, so have a little bit of faith in me, I'm pretty good with a spear believe it or not."

"If your story is true, then I would have to believe that you are."

Willow noticed the doubt in his eyes, and frowned, "You think I'm lying, don't you?"

He remained silent, and she exhaled wearily. She would just have to prove him wrong when they got there finally – she just hoped her legs wouldn't fail her at a vital moment. At least she could still throw pretty well.

"It's fine," she said, "I'll prove it when we get there."

He did not respond to that, and decided another topic would be a prudent change to alleviate the awkward atmosphere.

"Are the earmuffs satisfactory?"

Her frown dissipated, she looked at Wilson and smiled, "Yes, they're really great, thanks."

He smiled in turn. "Then I am pleased they serve you well," he looked at her hair, "and your hair as well."

Her face flushed ever so marginally; there was something in his earnest smile made her warm inside. Not the impassive warmth of the campfire on her skin, a deeper more resonant warmth that made her being swell. She broke eye contact and returned her gaze to the fire, her thoughts spiraling slightly out of control. They sat in mutual silence for a few moments, before Willow spoke again.

"You're a very… thoughtful person."

He chuckled in good humor, "I would hope so, otherwise I feel that I would have failed as a scientist."

The campfire started dwindling, a sign that the time for rest was nearly finished. Wilson got to his feet and held out a hand to Willow. She took it, but as he started lifting her, her legs protested and she slumped to the ground again.

Rubbing her legs and thighs, she realized how stiff they had become, probably an aftereffect of her overexertion and the cold.

"What's wrong?" Wilson enquired softly.

"My legs, they're just kind of stiff."

He hummed thoughtfully; her muscles were probably not used to trekking these large distances, and combined with the cold… He sat down next to her and cleared his throat slightly, she looked at him.

"May I?"

"Uh, uh, uh," was all that she could say, Wilson waited patiently, finally she just decided to trust the scientist and nodded.

"This may be slightly uncomfortable at first."

"Wha-?"

Before she could protest, he gently clasped his hands around her calves and squeezed them firmly but mildly. She initially gasped at the coldness of his hands, then at his actions. He worked his way up to her upper legs, gently kneading the appropriate muscles. She realized that Wilson was giving her a massage.

Thankfully his hands started warming up and it became so much more pleasing. Pleased that his attention was focused on her legs and not her flushed face, she watched him with unconcealed curiosity. Why would he know how to give a massage she wondered?

Just as she started really enjoying it, he raised his hands and rubbed them thoroughly. It gave Willow enough time to compose her facial expression to something that resembled neutral, though it did not do much for the red tint of her face.

"There," he said, getting up, "that should make walking easier for the time being."

She stood up by herself and was pleased to find that he was right; her muscles only ached slightly at the moment. They picked up their gear and continued at a much steadier pace, for her benefit. Willow tested the temporary limits that her legs pressed on her, and found herself suitable for combat.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked.

"What?"

"The massage,"

"Oh," he said absentmindedly, "I've studied anatomy in detail from several books; I just targeted the appropriate muscles for walking and relieved some of the stiffness, temporarily."

She looked at him incredulity. "You mean you just, improvised that?"

"Yes," he said slowly, "I do hope that it was tolerable, it seems to have thawed some of the stiffness however?"

It was more than tolerable she wanted to say, but modesty and shyness prevented her. She settled on something generic, hoping it would not insult him.

"It was okay, thanks."

Just then, Wilson spotted a tier two spider den approximately twenty meters away. He made a motion for Willow to halt, which she did. The den he was headed to was still at least 1 hour away, where did this den come from? Did he not notice it the first time he came through here? Impossible, it must have been placed here somehow.

This made things remarkably easier, they would still be able to make it back to camp today.

"Willow," he said quietly, and pointed to the den, "You see that?"

She nodded. "I do, so what's the plan of action?"

"You stay here," she looked at him reproachfully, "I'm going to lead the spiders here, so that we can deal with them together – in small numbers they are relatively easy to deal with."

This seemed to satisfy her, and she stripped off her backpack and placed it on the ground. Both of them started shoveling snow out of the way, making space for another fire. Wilson put on his combat gear, consisting of a log suit and a football helmet. Just as their second fire crackled to life, dusk enveloped them.

He looked at Willow, she nodded and handed him a spear. He heard the telltale hissing of spiders behind him and set off to aggravate and lure a few back to the fire. A spider watched him curiously, and he taunted it by coming within a meter radius of it. It started chasing him and he ran back to the fire, where Willow was waiting expectantly.

"One spider!" he yelled to her, and turned around to face the monstrosity.

Just as he was about to slash at it, Willow performed a twirl and swung her spear with vicious speed towards the unfortunate creature. She cut a sizable hole through the spider – killing it instantly. Wilson couldn't comprehend what had happened for a few moments, and turned to face a smiling Willow.

"Told you I was good," she said proudly.

"... That you are," he reaffirmed, and just stood watching her.

"Well, go on," she said and made a 'shooing' motion with her hands, tugging his mind out of the clouds, "We're not stopping at one, are we?"

"No, I suppose not," he said and walked back towards the spider den. They continued their tactic for sixteen more spiders, with Willow netting about eighty percent of the kills. He really had underestimated this Girl Scout.

"That was exhausting," Wilson said as they both stabbed the last spider, killing it. He looked at the bundle of silk they extracted from the spiders, around twenty pieces, more than enough to last them for the next two winters provided they used it carefully.

"Yeah, it was pretty tiring," Willow concurred as she turned to face him, she had a tired smile on her face, but it faltered and was replaced by a look of dread. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she shouted.

"Move!"

And he did so instinctively, quickly sidestepping and diving out of the way as Willow raised her spear into a throwing position. He heard it fly past him, and imbed into something behind him with a sickening crunch.

He quickly stood up and turned to see what the unfortunate object of Willow's wrath was. A warrior spider lay there with a spear through its left eye, twitching involuntarily. He turned back to her, she was wide eyed with shock and fumbling hopelessly with her hands.

"Omigosh I'm so sorry!" she apologized, "It just, jumped at you, and I reacted without thinking!"

Though he felt that the spear was a tad too close for comfort, she had saved him from being bitten by a warrior spider, which he considered a definite victory. He walked up to her and gently clasped her trembling shoulders.

"Willow, thank you."

She looked up to him with an uncertain expression, and then he beamed a smile at her.

"N-no problem."

He surveyed the carnage around them; purple blood and spider carcasses littered the area. As if a demigod issued out its divine judgment on these poor creatures. He looked back at Willow and thought it was an apt description. A demigod with a taste for fire.

"Let's head back to camp."

She nodded in agreement, and they quickly packed up and started their journey back to camp. All trivial arguments of the day burnt away and the ashes scattered on the kindling wind.

* * *

_Hope you're enjoying it thus far, I hope nothing is coming off as 'filler'. I'm trying to lead these two on an interesting adventure while making subtle nods to the game in general, and I might have taken some liberties with Willow's combat ability - artistic licence!_

_If you are indeed enjoying it, let me know, it'll encourage me to keep releasing these chapters daily._


	6. Koalefants & Disagreements

**Koalefants & Disagreements**

* * *

It started off as any other day, the two eating leftovers and engaging in happy banter while waiting for their thermal stones to heat up. Willow was frowning at the stones as they neared the necessary temperature to keep them warm for the travel ahead. Wilson noticed, and enquired, as a scientist would.

"What's wrong?" he asked, her attention shifting from the glowing stones back to him.

"Heat without the flame," she shrugged, "What fun is that?"

He tried to fight off the urge to roll his eyes, and failed. "The fun lies within the fact that it will delay us from freezing to death for a considerable amount of time," before adding a bit less seriously, "You pyromaniac you."

She laughed at the accusation, she had poked fun at him before and now he was just returning the favor. Few people had come to terms with her intense love for all things fiery. They had termed it 'an unhealthy obsession' at best, and she had simply reclined to think they were unable to comprehend it. Fire had a certain beauty to it, unmatched by any other element. It was dynamic and kinetic, ever changing – ever evolving.

She looked back to the gentleman scientist. He was busy fixing his hair into its usual springy state, but one of the three tufts refused to adhere. She continued to watch his struggle with a smile.

He… did not understand her fixation with the unruly element, but had respected her enough not to bring it up at every conversation as something that needed to be 'fixed'. Hell, he had even said it may be useful in some situations. She knew he still felt faintly uncomfortable with her inability to burn, but he hadn't shied away from her – as if she were some malevolent entity.

Giving up with fixing his hair, he reluctantly shoved on his Beefalo Hat and turned to her, "Shall we be off? I have many plans for today, and time stands still for no man."

She frowned slightly, "You always have many plans for 'today', don't you scientists take days off?"

Adapting to Wilson's strict regime of working had been quite daunting at first, but manageable. The man always had something that he needed to accomplish before dusk. She had preferred to spend her free days lounging about, doing nothing of great value except adoring the flame from her lucky lighter. Well, before she was dragged into this strange place.

Today was one of those days. She wanted nothing more to curl up in the tent inside the musky bedroll and sleep away the cold.

"We will be granted eternal rest when we die, why waste time when there is so much we could learn?"

"Hmph," she scoffed, "You need to _learn_ how to take a break."

He considered this, and rebutted accordingly, "No I do not," he said firmly, before adding, "but if you wish to stay at camp and perform duties here… I will head out _alone_."

He emphasized the last word specifically, gaining an annoyed pout from Willow. She had insisted that they would travel together ever since her arm was fully healed, no matter the reason. He had obliged, she was definitely more proficient in combat than he was – since the utter decimation of the spiders she had demonstrated the day prior.

She was considerably more confident compared to the initial days of their 'partnership', as he termed it, no longer simply obeying his commands but proposing her own ideas instead. It seemed that this world had nearly broken her too. He welcomed the change in her happily, but knew that it could and would lead to conflict sooner or later.

He would cross that bridge when he reached it.

"You know my answer to that," she said and slipped on her rabbit earmuffs. They were probably the most wonderful thing she owned, aside from her lighter of course, except for one small problem. They still smelled like rabbit butt.

"Then let us make haste,"

Wilson scooped up his thermal stone and promptly buried it within his backpack, enjoying the warmth that flowed into his back. Willow was holding her thermal stone with a small smile. She turned to Wilson and happily exclaimed, "Look how it glows!"

"Toasty," he agreed with a smirk.

They set off into the cold snowy plains. Winter was nearing its middle, where it was coldest and the bitterest. Wilson knew this from experience, Willow did not. Still there was much to be done to ensure their long term survival and eventual escape from this plain of existence.

It brought another thought to mind, where was Maxwell? He had made it known that he thoroughly enjoyed taunting and tormenting his prey in his treatment of Wilson, but he was nowhere to be seen the last few weeks. Perhaps he had grown tired of them? That was both a reassuring and frightening notion to Wilson. It meant he was up to something, a game of sorts that no doubt had high stakes.

"So, what are we doing today Mr. Scientist?"

"We'll be checking our rabbit traps as per usual," he said with a measure of displeasure, he wanted something more substantial to fill his belly with, and their vegetable reserves were practically finished. He had only a slightly stale carrot. Fishing had only been marginally successful, "and making some improvements to our camp."

This interested Willow, "What improvements?"

"I wish to construct a low stone wall around our camp, as we have ample resources. I also wish to create something that can measure the approximate ambient air temperature so we can prepare for seasonal changes."

"You can make something like that?" she asked incredulously.

"I do believe so," he nodded, and then retrieved his opulent pickaxe from his backpack and handed it to Willow. She took it without question and they continued onwards.

"See the material the head is made out of?"

"Uh, you mean the gold?"

"My original thoughts as well, but it has some interesting properties that gold does not, and is therefore a much more valuable asset to us."

Willow was never really interested in minerals, but she did not want to seem to be an uneducated idiot to Wilson, "Like what?"

"You see, gold is extremely soft. But this material has an incredibly high density, which makes it sturdy and suitable for these kinds of tools."

"Can it set rocks on fire?" she blurted out without thinking, not even sure why she asked such a question. He titled his head to look at her quizzically, and started laughing. Well, there goes that entire thing of not wanting to look like an idiot Willow thought dolefully.

Eventually marching onwards he replied, "No that it cannot, but I don't blame you for thinking that – a lot of things are different in this place we find ourselves trapped in. But you aren't too far off the mark," her eyebrows perked at this, "This material is filled with an inherent energy, a constant potential energy if you will, that allows it to power many of my contraptions via electrical doodads."

Feeling like much less of an idiot after that ordeal, she examined the pickaxe further, "Well, it sure is shiny."

"That it is."

They reached their destination, and checked their traps. One rabbit was not an acceptable haul in Wilson's eyes. He racked his mind for options – they could go hunting the Beefalo, but they were difficult to separate when they so close together in a herd during winter. The danger of being trampled would be high, therefore not an option.

Surveying the area around them, he spotted something that might solve their food problems for a reasonable amount of time. He approached it and his suspicions were confirmed, and he clasped his hands together in excitement. An opportunity they couldn't afford to give up had presented itself!

Hastily, he uncovered the dirt pile and saw which direction his potential quarry had headed. He turned to Willow and motioned her to come join him by the print, she obliged. She was trying to hide her feelings about the hunt she knew lay ahead – but she always hated having to kill Koalefants. She would try to hunt a Beefalo over them any day, even though they only yielded half the meat.

These feelings came from one of her first nights in this realm. She had been hunting the creature unknowingly, eventually encountering it and finding she was too exhausted to chase it down with her spear. They were extremely agile, despite their appearance.

Nevertheless she had tried to chase down the beast which simply evaded her attacks and regarded her with mild curiosity. Too hungry to notice, she had unwittingly stumbled onto a spider den and fell in the tacky web. It had bound her, and her squirming had alerted the spiders. Completely drained from previous exertions – she was defenseless. She closed her eyes awaiting her painful demise. But she did not feel hungry mandibles tearing into her flesh, but instead the ground shuddering beneath her. Reluctantly she opened her eyes to find that the Koalefant had intercepted the hungry mob of spiders, and was doing battle with them.

She had watched in astonishment as the creature crushed the sickly spiders with its mighty hooves and swift strikes from its trunk. Eventually the beast had finished off the last of the spiders, and subsequently crushed their den. It took a few minutes before she registered what had happened – the animal she was hunting had saved her life, for reasons she could not comprehend. The creature had vanished into the adjourning trees, and she felt no desire to hunt it any longer.

From that day forth, she had refused to harm any of their kin and resolved to befriend the intriguing creatures.

Now Wilson intended to hunt one of them, it went against her morals to say the least, but how could she convince this scientist to give up an opportunity like this?

"Willow, are you listening?"

That snapped her out of her thoughts, "Huh? What?"

He shook his head in a mildly condescending manner, "Sometimes I wonder where you disappear to, when you get that look on your face. As I was saying, we should follow this trail and hunt it – it will provide us with adequate meat to easily survive the rest of the winter, and we can use its fur to fashion us warmer clothing."

As per usual, there was nothing wrong with his reasoning much to Willow's disappointment. She needed to find a way to convince him to spare this creature's life, but how? She knew how illogical it would sound if she told him she was indebted to these creatures. The Koalefant that saved her life may simply have been protecting its territory, nothing more.

"Wilson?" she tested quietly, he was already considering the specifications of his drying racks that he wanted to build when they came back to camp; jerky would be able to last a long time and make good traveling food. Recent events had drained his time exponentially, and he had been putting off the construction of the drying racks for too long.

"Yes?"

"Can't we, um," she twiddled her fingers in nervousness, "Rather hunt a Beefalo or something?"

Confused, he looked up to her, "Why would you want to hunt such dangerous quarry when we have been given a much better opportunity?" he shook his head, "No – we will hunt this."

"But…"

"But what Willow?" he asked, time was beginning to run out – the track was going to get buried in the snow if they didn't move soon. She was trying to voice some note of concern, but failing. He turned his back on her and proceeded onwards in search of the next pile leaving Willow to catch up on her own time. She hurried to his side as he was busy uncovering the next pile.

"Please," she looked at him with pleading eyes, something stirring deep within him before his cold analytical side crushed it.

He would not risk their very survival on some whim Willow possessed. No, he had worked hard enough to survive this long. As soon as the winter passes he would look into cultivating his own crop via farming, a sustainable form of nourishment instead of the ceaseless hunting.

"Why?" he asked with cold indifference, already standing up to find continue the hunt. She grabbed him by the arm, and he bored his gaze into her. He started tugging to get free, she held on. Perhaps he would have to cross this bridge sooner than he'd anticipated.

"I have a debt to these creatures," she finally relented; Wilson stopped tugging, "One of them saved my life."

"What?"

She exhaled, "Before we met, I tried hunting one of them too – and it ended up saving my life from spiders."

At least the gears were turning in his head, "So that is why you do not want to harm these creatures?"

She nodded, and he sighed. He decided that women were fundamentally emotional creatures, no matter what they say. Not that he saw any problems with emotion; he embraced it as part of the human condition. No, his problem lay with those who let their emotions dictate their actions instead of using their emotions to come to a decision.

"Willow," he started patiently, "have you considered that it might not have intended to save you? That, perhaps it was simply killing a menace that was encroaching on its territory?"

She bit her lip, she had indeed considered this, "Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that it saved my life."

"Willow, I myself do not enjoy killing these creatures, but it is a necessity if we wish to survive."

She remained silent as they looked at each other. A battle of wills taking place. The cold calculating scientist versus the passionate pyromaniac, neither wished to relent. As if on cue, a blue Koalefant wandered out into the clearing from behind a few trees.

Both of them saw it. Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he tugged his arm free and Willow fell to the snowy ground. He brusquely retrieved his boomerang from his backpack, and prepared to throw it at the creature. Willow saw this, and scrambled up just in time to interrupt his throw by knocking him slightly off balance.

They both watched the boomerang fly through the air. As expected, his aim was off on account of Willow, and it missed the Koalefant by a significant amount of space.

"Why did you do that?" he yelled, turning to her.

"No, why did _you_ do that?" she yelled in return.

"We will starve!"

"There are plenty of Beefalo that we can hunt! I saw another large pack on the way here!"

"And get trampled to death? No, I thi-"

Before Wilson could finish the rest of his argument, his boomerang did what boomerangs did best, return. Unfortunately Wilson was too caught up in his heated argument with Willow to notice – and therefore did not register it until it solidly smashed into his face.

He promptly fell to the ground, off balance and very disorientated. Willow let out a small shriek of surprise. Laying on the cold ground, eyes closed and face scrunched in pain – Wilson had a small revelation. Ignoring Willow's pleas and frantic babbling, he slowly sat up and brought a hand to his face. His nose hurt exceptionally, but thankfully it wasn't broken. He brought his hand back into view, and something red glistened on it.

Blood.

He looked down; blood was trickling down his chin, onto his beard and onto his Breezy vest. It was a mess to say the least. Willow looked very guilty, and was offering him a hand to stand up. He looked at the gesture for a few moments, and stood up by his own admission without her aid.

Thankfully his nose was not bleeding overtly, due to the icy temperature. He calmly waited for his nose to stop bleeding and then took a collection of himself. With all his self-control and willpower, he summoned an aura of clinical indifference around him and stifled down the searing emotions, threatening to break free.

He turned to Willow very deliberately, "What do you think we should do?" he asked evenly.

"Um, what?" Willow asked baffled, not sure what to make of his behavior.

She had not considered the repercussions to her actions, and she knew they were going to punish her thoroughly. It would have been better if he shouted at her, and reprimanded her. But instead he was acting normally… scientifically.

"I asked, what do you think we should do?" he asked again more slowly.

This was definitely worse than what she had anticipated. If she thought she had seen him angry before, she was wrong. The few times she had seen him in a mood, he was simply frustrated or weary. Now, he was vehement with rage, but he masked it with a neutral expression.

"Right now?" she queried.

"Yes, in this particular situation – what do you believe would be our best course of action?"

She looked back to the Koalefant still observing them with its large eyes. She still could not bring herself to harm the creature even now. Looking back at Wilson, she saw he was pinching the bridge of his nose gently and watching her with his intent gaze, waiting for her reply.

"I think," she started hesitantly, "I think we should go back to camp."

She waited for his rebuttal, but it did not come. He looked at her for a few seconds longer before replying.

"Then so it shall be," came his reply.

She watched him retrieve his boomerang from the ground, place it into his backpack and start walking in the direction they came from. Guilt was gnawing at her as she caught up to just behind him, each subsequent drop of his blood in the snow sharpening the emotion until she was sure it could split hair.

The trek continued in silence for several minutes, and Willow felt as if she was slowly being suffocated as the silence dragged on. She wanted to break it, but what could she say?

"I'm sorry," she said eventually, hoping it would be the right choice. It had worked before.

If Wilson had heard her, he had not made it known, so she repeated herself once more.

"I heard you the first time Willow," came his detached reply, "I was merely wondering why you are sorry."

"What do you mean?" she asked angrily, "Obviously I'm sorry that you got hurt!"

She heard him scoff, "Oh? You are not sorry that you might have cost us a great opportunity for both more suitable clothing and food for the course of this season?" he shook his head condescendingly, "My nose is a small concern compared to the larger issues at hand Willow."

"Our supplies aren't that low, and we still have our rabbit traps. And if it comes down to it, we can always hunt some of the Beefalo."

"Our rabbit traps have been yielding less and less as of late, and hunting Beefalo when they are huddled so close together is a dangerous task."

"It won't be so difficult if we can separate one from the group."

He had to admit, that would make it tremendously easier, but it would still be considerably more difficult than simply hunting the Koalefant as he had planned.

"Then let us try hunting one now," he said when his nose stopped bleeding, "if it won't be so difficult separating one from the herd as you say."

Willow obliged, she would show him that it wouldn't be so difficult. They neared their camp, where the Beefalo were situated nearby. As they came to the situation, they were met by a worrying and confusing sight.

All the Beefalo were gone.

Wilson was astounded, why would an entire herd of Beefalo suddenly decide to travel in the midst of winter? There were still a robust amount of grass tufts left on the field. He knew that trying to find their tracks with this heavy snowfall would be in vain, but Willow was trying nonetheless. It was as if they vanished into thin air.

"Where are they?" she asked the sky indignantly.

"It is unusual for them to migrate during winter," Wilson supplied, "but not unheard of," he paused to study the sky, it was getting late and his once warm thermal stone was currently drawing heat from his body.

"Let us return to camp, we will try again tomorrow."

Reluctantly, she followed him but not before casting another look at the now empty field. It was extremely eerie when it was so devoid of life.

They reached their base in a matter of minutes, and Wilson had courteously asked Willow to prepare the food while he tended to his bloodied face. Even though he had phrased it in technical manner, the words still stung her. In the end, it was undoubtedly her fault.

Wilson returned with the large wooden barrel contraption filled with water, his face looking remarkably better. He motioned to Willow for the pot they used to boil their drinking water, and she gave it to him. He filled it and placed it on their fire they used to cook food.

Then he proceeded to pour the rest of the water into the crockpot they used for bathing. It would have been a daunting task if not for Wilson's fine understanding of mechanical devices and engineering know-how.

They went through their regular motions, eating, cleaning, bathing – Wilson always gave Willow the benefit of being the first to bathe – but each activity was stilted in Willow's eyes. It lacked their usual energy and witty talking. The meal was by far the worst for Willow, it was inadequate and she knew Wilson knew it as well. Her own stomach ached for more after she finished her helping, she could only imagine how hungry Wilson was. She now regretted her decision of stopping him from killing that Koalefant, none of this would have happened if she had not stopped him.

Wilson was too focused on his own thoughts to notice the atmosphere or his own hunger, still thoroughly annoyed by Willow's earlier actions and immersed in trying to find a solution to their food problem. Sighing, he retreated to the tent as Willow proceeded to bathe herself, immersing himself instead in the creation of his own bedroll.

Solitude would be his companion tonight.

He was just about finished when Willow stepped in, informing him that he could go bath. He nodded and proceeded past her, ignoring the puzzled look she gave him as she noted the extra bedroll. Let her think what she may, he was disappointed in her decisions today.

As he entered the steamy water, it was as if all the tension of his body dissipated. The first real semblance of joy in his day. He gently pinched his nose and tested it, still a bit sore but manageable. He sighed, why was she so insistent on sparing the beast's life? Willow may not have been as knowledgeable as him in certain studies, but she certainly was not stupid. The possibility of it knowingly saving her life was so low it was negligible.

He massaged the creases of his forehead with the tips of his fingers. This would require further thinking at a later time, he wished to touch up his thermal measurer blueprint before the day concluded. After frantically putting on his clothes to preserve as much heat from the bath, he reentered the tent.

Willow was already lying in the larger of the two bedrolls with her back towards him. He moved past and sat at the small table and continued his diligent work on the design. Making a small adjustment to the feet of the machine, to ensure stability, a voice piqued up.

"You're really mad at me, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said, not beating around the bush.

Perhaps he wished he could blame his anger on their situation, on the Koalefant, on Maxwell, on his bloody boomerang. But he knew that deep down he felt that Willow had failed him in some manner, even though he could not articulate it.

Willow felt simultaneously miserable and livid to his answer, "What did you expect me to do? Just let you kill it? Ignore my feelings, and watch you slaughter it?"

"Willow," he said wearily, getting up and slipping into his own bedroll, "I do not wish to argue any further. Let us retire for the evening and discuss this further in the morning."

He turned on his side away from her. He embraced the lackluster warmth of sleeping alone, allowing his being to drained of all the frustration, anger and hurt it had experienced on this day. Tomorrow would be a new day, and he would handle it differently than he did today. He fell asleep quickly with that thought in mind.

Willow on the other hand, had difficulty accounting for the lack of warmth since Wilson's departure. She tried different positions but none worked. Even her scathing anger was not enough to warm her to an acceptable degree.

Miserable and defeated, the pyromaniac eventually succumbed to sleep's persisting grip, mind still subconsciously working between heartfelt anger and despondent guilt.

It was not pleasant sleep.

* * *

_A day late maybe, but this chapter was slightly more difficult. I wanted to do something with some Koalefants, and had to come up with some back story for Willow to explain why she liked the creatures so much. Hopefully it was adequate. _

_I took some liberties with the 'gold' in the game, making up some mumbo jumbo that might explain some of the contraptions you are able to build with the resource in-game._

_On a more personal note, relationship troubles! It had to happen sometime, and I cut to the chase with it. I hope Wilson & Willow's responses are believable by the way, I always think of a different response when I publish the chapter._

_If you enjoyed it, let me know - more motivation for me and more chapters for you._

_And if you notice any mistakes in my work, let me know, I'd greatly appreciate it._


	7. Twenty Questions and a Shave

**Twenty Questions and a Shave**

* * *

"What is your favorite animal?" Wilson asked, surprising Willow.

She had been sharpening her spear and absentmindedly observing the campfire from the confines of their tent before Wilson spoke. The last few days had passed in an uneventful haze, nothing spectacular to differentiate them from each other.

He was not pleased with her actions to spare the Koalefant, which she had anticipated, and he had demonstrated his displeasure with his actions clearly. Choosing to craft his own bedroll had been an indicator. Their lack of usual conversation was another.

That was why it when he asked something so arbitrary it surprised her.

Instead of gracing him with an answer, she deflected his question with another full of suspicion, "Why?"

Wilson shrugged, turning towards Willow who sat cross-legged at the entrance of the tent, "I thought it would be a welcome change from the silence."

"No, I mean why are you deciding to talk to me now?"

Wilson sighed, ever since their disagreement he needed time to think. His simmering anger had subsided and he was able to reach a conclusion.

Two sides had waged war inside Wilson. The gentleman in him dictated that he should apologize to her for so blatantly disregarding her wishes in favor of his own. Another raged that he had nothing to apologize for, as he was scientifically correct in his reasoning.

"Willow, over the course of these few weeks you must have noticed that I am indeed – quite stubborn."

He let the words sink in, after she nodded, he continued, "Yes, I do think that your decision was a foolish waste of resources, yes I was angry that you chose it," he paused, "and unfortunately we're in a dire position because of your decision."

She lowered her gaze reproachfully; his words had found their mark. Wilson had made clear how beneficial the food would be, and he was right, their subsequent rabbit and fish hauls were diminishing at a frightening rate. They had not found any food today, and the Beefalo were still woefully missing.

"Conversely, there was no conceivable way that you could know that this would happen; the Beefalo's disappearance is baffling to say that least. Regardless, it did not justify disregarding your decision in such a rude manner."

Wilson leaned back on his stool, before focusing his gaze on Willow and clasping his hands together. It was difficult for him to acknowledge he was wrong, but it had to be done.

"I am almost exclusively a solitary man, abiding by my own set of rules. I am not very… considerate in some areas," he paused to think, before concluding, "especially in decision making."

"This," he pointed at his nose, "was a result of my own arrogance, nothing more."

That had concluded Wilson's monologue. Now it was Willow's turn to respond, and she digested his words carefully. It was a full two minutes before she spoke.

"Is this how you usually apologize?"

"I don't usually apologize, but yes Willow, I am sorry for my actions."

Willow's heart lightened extensively at the word 'sorry', it had been lacking in his previous monologue but now he supplied it.

"However," here came the catch, it seemed, "I must implore you to thoroughly consider the consequences of your actions

"No one who says 'but' in an apology is truly apologetic."

He narrowed his gaze. "You doubt the sincerity of my apology? I do not mince words Willow. Try to understand my position in all of this. I very much wish to survive this ordeal, but if you make decisions that jeopardize our survival, how am I to feel?"

He must have thought this entire conversation through in his hours of thought, she guessed. A man that applied the scientific method in all areas of his life. It was somewhat unsettling to her how thoroughly the mentality manifested itself in Wilson. But then again, who was she, a self-proclaimed pyromaniac, to judge?

"Okay, fine, I'll consider them."

"In that case, what would happen if we were to run across, say, another Koalefant? What then? Is your debt repaid to the creatures? A life for a life? Quid pro quo?"

His thoroughness was damning at times, he really wasn't simply going to let this go it seemed, much to Willow's chagrin. She wanted nothing more than to simply put the event behind them, but it was important to Wilson that the subject was completely dissected and examined before he could file it away.

"We'll… hunt it," she finally relented, with a great deal of effort on her part.

"Thank you, Willow."

Satisfied, he stood up and joined her, sitting across from her wearing a meek grin. Wilson understood how greatly this event played in her heart, and understood her heartfelt sacrifice in choosing to side with him.

In hindsight, he understood what it felt like, the guilt. It was his lust for more knowledge that put him in this situation. A thought that was not often dwelled upon, but never forgotten either.

"Back to my original question, what is your favorite animal?"

Willow chuckled lightly, "You really want to know, don't you?"

"Absolutely."

"Guess," she stated bluntly.

No, this wouldn't do, thought Wilson to himself. His curiosity had been aroused ever since the seemingly insignificant question came to mind, and to unable to sate it was tormenting.

"I would much rather you just tell me," he implored gently.

"Where's the fun in that?" she said and winked at him.

"Fine," he conceded, "Is it a cat?"

"Pff! No, why would you think that?"

Faintly agitated, "I am 'guessing', as you say. Is it a Koalefant?"

"No, mm," she hummed thoughtfully, "Let's play twenty questions."

"What is 'Twenty Questions'?"

She looked at him dubiously, "You've never played twenty questions?"

He shook his head, "You missed out, what kind of childhood did you have anyway?" she asked rhetorically.

It was not exactly a comfortable question to the scientist, but thankfully she did not pursue it any further. His childhood was not exactly traditional in the eyes of society.

"How exactly is Twenty Questions played?"

"Basically," she said, waving a finger, "You ask me twenty questions to figure out what my favorite animal is. I can only respond to by a 'yes' or a 'no'. When you asked if it was a cat, it counted as one question, so you've got eighteen left."

This sounded highly intriguing to the scientist, a game that rewarded logical thinking and deduction. He would win this game of hers.

"Is it a mammal?"

Willow did not think that his third question would stump her, but it did, "No, well, yes, maybe – wait, what's a mammal again?"

This would take a while Wilson guessed, as he went into a bout of explanation regarding the definition of a mammal. Once concluded Willow's brow was deep in thought, "I really don't know whether it's a mammal or not. Maybe."

"If I remember correctly, 'maybe' is not an acceptable answer."

"Hold on," she said, thinking, "Is there anything else you can tell me about mammals?"

"Well, I've basically expended my knowledge on you…" his brow furrowed in thought, "Maybe there's one more thing, they typically give birth to live young."

That counted, right? Willow was not so sure, but decided to go with it anyway. But that meant… oh whatever she decided.

"It's both."

And so went the game on, Wilson whittling down certain details but slowly getting nowhere. When he reached his second last question, he thought he had been played as a fool.

Exasperated, "What in the confounded heavens is it then?!" he asked.

"I thought scientists didn't give up," she teased, enjoying his frustration to a ridiculous degree.

"We don't," he quickly replied, "But on account of my hunger, my intellect suffers slightly."

It was not an intentional barb, but a barb it was nonetheless. Wilson saw her giddy expression vanish, and something more guilt-ridden take its place. He decided that sometimes he could be scientific to a fault. He placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Hey," he said, gaining her attention, "It is not your fault, our luck will improve."

"Hmph, you're just saying that to make me feel better," she said and crossed her arms irately.

"As long as you are by my side, I have no doubts."

Something like that a girl could take out of context, and Willow was very much a girl. She would have pointed out that that they're practically starving because of her, but she didn't. He talked before she could think any further, oblivious to her thoughts.

"So enlighten me, what _is_ this perplexing creature that happens to be your favorite animal?"

Twiddling her fingers slightly, distinctively aware of Wilson's hand on her shoulder, "It's a… phoenix,"

Wilson did not know whether to be mad on account of her choosing a fictional creature as her favorite animal, or to laugh at the aptness of her selection. A combination of both ensued, but the latter won. Willow thought he was laughing at her choice.

"Hey! What's so funny?!" she shouted, he abruptly stopped laughing, and looked at the grumpy pyromaniac wearing a scowl on her face. He could not resist and another bout of laughter ensued. Willow patiently waited, knowing that she could get her revenge somehow but his breathless words stunned her once more.

"It's just, it's just so," he gave himself a moment to regain his breath, "very much like _you_."

It might have been the hunger playing tricks on her, but there was something slightly different in the manner he had said that. There had to be.

"Is something wrong?"

Being dragged from the endless planes of her mind for the third time today, she quickly responded, "No, I'm fine, really."

He looked at her curiously for a moment, "If you say so," he looked at the campfire, it was dwindling on account of the snowfall, "I'll be a moment, the fire needs to be tended to."

She nodded dumbly, and when he left the tent she buried her face in her palms. What was going on? He had said these things before, sort of, why was now any different? She was acting like a stupid giddy schoolgirl head over heels in love. With some random youngish scientist type guy that saved her in for all she could know, an alternate dimension, or whatever.

She didn't even know his full name!

After taking several deep calming breaths, she stood up and briskly walked out of the tent. She was going to determine his full name this very instant.

Wilson was busy chopping up a log to toss into the fire when a very bewildered Willow approached him, he noted and saw a look of determination etched on her face.

"Willow, are you quite alright?" he asked cautiously when she came into range.

"What?" she demanded angrily, "Yes! Why wouldn't I be?"

He gulped somewhat audibly, deliberately lower his gaze to her feet for a moment and withdrawing it. Willow noted the icy sensation working its way up from her feet and into her legs, confused, she looked down.

She wasn't wearing shoes.

"Um, no reason," he replied less than honestly, "Are you displeased because I laughed? I intended no disrespect Willow, it was simply an amusing situation I assure you."

"What?" she asked, perplexed, "No, that's not why I'm here."

He nodded slowly, "Then why are you here?"

It was embarrassing, her standing barefoot in the snow not wearing anything substantial to ward off the cold, but she was not willing to let all the momentum go down the drain, "I wanted to ask you what your name was."

Warning bells echoed in Wilson's mind, thinking that she might be delirious. He put down the axe and peacefully gestured with his hands, "My name is Wilson, Wil-son," he emphasized each syllable by rapping his fingers against his chest.

Baffled, Willow tried to reply but Wilson beat her to it, "And you are Willow, Will-ow," pointing both of his hands to her.

Beginning to comprehend what Wilson was getting at, "I'm not crazy! I know who I am!" she said passionately, "I meant, what is your _full_ name, like including surname?"

Puzzled, he asked, "This could not wait until I returned?"

She racked her mind for an explanation, one that actually made sense, "I... uh, I decided some fresh air would be nice as well."

"I see," he said dubiously, casting another glance at her feet, "Very well, my full name is Wilson Percival Higgsbury."

Interesting name, thought Willow as she tested the words on her tongue. They sounded somewhat odd, but she could get used to them.

"Since you are so… keen on some fresh air, would you like to accompany me on a short trip? We still have some daylight left."

Internally Willow sighed, she wanted nothing more than crawl back into the warmth of the tent and tend to some nondescript chores even though her stomach groaned in hunger. Heat took precedence to food, but she would need to tend to the need eventually.

And the idea of spending the rest of the day cooped up with Wilson in the warm stuffy tent… felt somewhat embarrassing given her current state of emotions.

"Sure, we can go. Ju-just give me a minute to get on my gear."

Wilson idly wondered if Willow had consumed a green mushroom, or several. Hopefully not he mused, carrying the logs to the campfire and tossing them in. He planned to observe her on this trip nonetheless; it would not be beneficial if she was indeed losing her mind.

He nudged their thermal stones markedly closer to the fire, watching them heat up as he waited for Willow. He'd probably have to ask her to retrieve them judging by their fiery red color. Her talent had indeed been useful as he predicted, making some small tasks noticeably easier.

He noticed Willow step out of their tent, thankfully wearing shoes this time. He exhaled in relief; perhaps she was fine after all. Her moods were fluctuating between submissive and dominant, an odd combination frankly.

"Are you prepared?" he asked.

She nodded, besides her stockings being slightly soggy from her previous silliness, she was ready.

"Good, would you please recover our thermal stones while I retrieve my backpack? I seem to have accidentally placed them too close to the fire."

Willow nodded and he went off to the tent. She had a sneaking suspicion he placed them so close to the fire on purpose, just so that he could ask her to retrieve them, another small way to make her feel useful. He had taken her feelings of inadequacy to heart and crushed them.

Most of all, she enjoyed how he displayed empathy instead of sympathy. Most people would have concurred that, yes it was quite sad, how she was feeling and all, but have done nothing about it. He made it an ongoing conscious tangible task. He did something.

Perhaps it was another facet of having such a structured and scientific mind, but she was happy for it. She smiled abashedly as she reached through the embers to retrieve the stones, he was a thoughtful guy.

"You certainly do enjoy watching fire," a voice remarked from her left.

She turned her head to see Wilson watching her unwaveringly wearing a grin. How long had he been there? She realized her hands were still grasping the red hot stones in the fire. Subsequently, she realized she had been thinking about Wilson this entire time and had not given the flames more than a passing glance.

He had not realized that he was the object of her thoughts, not the pretty flames.

"Uh, yes I do," she said hesitantly, "it's very… captivating."

"I shall remember that," he remarked, "would you kindly place my thermal stone in my backpack Willow?"

She obliged, and soon enough they were traveling. They were heading in a different direction today from their usual traps and such, it made Willow curious.

"Where are we going?

Wilson tilted his head slightly, noting Willow's unconcealed curiosity.

"You'll see, in due time."

"That's not fair," she complained to which he chuckled goodheartedly.

"Your favorite animal was 'not fair', both a mammal and not? And a fictional creature to boot! That was extremely _unfair_."

"Pff," she rebuked, "You're just mad because you're baaaad."

He cleared his throat, "I am not 'baaaad' as you say," he drew out the a's like a goat's bleating for comedic effect, it worked. Willow started laughing.

They traveled in relative silence after that. Coming upon a clearing after approximately twenty minutes of walking, Wilson gestured for Willow to be quiet for a moment. They stood behind a large tree. Willow watched the 'gentleman' carefully, remembering her last incident under a tree, but his attention was focused on something else.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, seeing no foul play on his part.

He did not respond immediately, and kept looking to the trees at the other side of the clearing. Willow could not detect anything spectacular from this specific clearing. She leaned against the huge tree, facing the direction they came from while Wilson crouched and observed something off in the distance.

Patience wearing thin, she was just about to tug the scientist on his jersey for leaving her out of the loop when he pulled out a Beefalo horn and blew on it. The sound echoed through the sparse air, carrying on for a few seconds before declining. Suddenly he grabbed her and pulled her down to his level quickly. It wasn't exactly rough, but it was a far cry from his usual gentlemanly ways.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a bit loudly for Wilson's tastes. He ignored her question again, and pointed to a group of trees a fair distance away.

"Look," he said simply.

Willow looked at the trees, not detecting anything spectacular from them either, "What?" she asked. He shook his head and pointed at the spot again, "Look carefully," he said.

She studied the trees again, with every bit of effort she could muster. There was a sliver of movement that she caught, and something brown slowly moved out from behind the trees.

A brown Beefalo cautiously moved out from behind the trees. Mouth agape, she turned to Wilson who wore the satisfied grin of a scientist whose experiment yielded substantial results.

"How did you figure out where they would be?" she asked in astonishment.

"Guess," he said and winked at her, "But let us first hunt before we get into details."

She nodded, "Okay, let's do it."

They carefully followed the tree line to the Beefalo, as not to startle the beasts prematurely. Willow had said that they should be careful to not allow the beasts to catch their scent, but Wilson had merely pointed to his Beefalo hat.

For once the reek was a welcome addition; the musky odor of the hat almost completely masking their individual human scents. They neared the Beefalo, and saw that there were only three of them calmly grazing on some grass tufts. Both survivors readied their weapons, preparing for the battle ahead.

Willow took out her boomerang and tested its weight.

Wilson took several calming breaths; combat would always prove a challenge for him. It came more naturally to her for whatever reason, "Ready?" she asked him. He nodded quickly, and a second later they burst out from behind the cover of the trees and ambushed the Beefalo.

Willow's aim was true, and her boomerang slammed firmly into the head of one of the creatures, aggravating it. Wilson charged forward brandishing his spear firmly and landed a few solid blows to the creature, before evading its attack just in time.

She joined in the fight, and soon enough their spoils lay strewn across the snow, with the trio of Beefalo dead. It had not been an easy fight; both of them had several scrapes from close calls. Though Wilson had taken a nasty knock from the last one, a sizable bruise on his right arm left him cradling the sore arm.

Thankfully he detected nothing broken, Willow was kneeling beside him, "You okay?" she asked worriedly. She realized that this was still, her fault technically speaking. She felt more acutely responsible for everything that had happened.

"Ah, yes yes," he replied a little too quickly, "tis but a scratch."

Wanting to at least redeem herself a bit, she offered her hand to Wilson, he took it and stood up with her help. Together they collected their spoils, Wilson obviously favoring his left arm while tending to the task.

"What a tiring day!" Wilson exclaimed upon entering their tent, he carefully unslung his backpack using only his left arm and collapsed face first onto their bedroll, his being a bit too far away for his liking. He hoped Willow would not mind.

She entered a second later, "Yeah, I can agree to that."

Wilson rolled over to respond but made the mistake of rolling to his right, placing a large amount of pressure on his injured limb. His response was replaced by him trying to stifle the pain in his arm.

"Let me take a look at that."

Opening one of his clenched eyelids, he saw a very disheartened Willow.

"It's really no trouble, I assure you,"

Her pout grew into a slight scowl, "Then you won't mind me taking a look at it then."

Resigning, he gingerly lifted his arm to Willow. She slipped off her own vest, earmuffs and backpack before coming to sit behind him. She carefully helped him take off his own vest, and examined his arm.

"I'll have to take this off to get a good look," she said, pinching the fabric of his worn shirt between her fingers.

After he granted his permission, she took off his crimson waistcoat and began unbuttoning his shirt. She was at the second last button when she realized that she was undressing Wilson, the thought registering in uncharted territory within her mind.

She shook her head slightly, and looked up to Wilson. His head was tilted back looking up, currently focused on some improvements he wanted to make on the structure of the tent. Promptly resuming her work, she finished unbuttoning his shirt and opened it to reveal his chest.

Her breath caught as she saw his pale chest, several scars scattered unevenly on the surface. It was somewhat defined, probably from the daily effort required to survive. It was also completely void of hair. Tantalizingly she reached out and touched a scar with two of her fingers, causing Wilson to refocus on her.

"Ah, yes," he remarked sourly, "An unfortunate consequence of surviving in the world Maxwell placed us in."

She nodded, she had quite a few of her own scars, but not this many. Wilson felt her slow and rhythmic breathing tickle his chest, "Willow?" he asked.

"Yeah?" she asked, still focused on his chest.

"You wish to look at my arm?" he reminded her, it worked.

Quickly averting her gaze from his chest, she looked at him and nodded taking off his shirt completely. She was stunned by the shade of greenish purple his arm had discolored to; it must have been tremendously painful.

"That must hurt," she concluded after a cursory glance.

"Honestly, it does – but thankfully nothing feels broken."

Both of their stomachs chose this opportune moment to growl, reminding both of their hunger that demanded attention. They shared a laugh at the moment, and Willow helped Wilson redress after applying a salve to the area to heal the tiny bit of broken skin.

She helped him with general chores that he used to do alone, like fetching water and cooking. Finally with both of their stomachs full, and the remaining meat currently drying on some racks that Wilson had made, the time for bathing came.

"This reminds me of how we met," he absently remarked as Willow helped him remove his shirt. She had obliged to giving him the first turn, on account of his injuries.

"Yeah," she replied, smiling softly, "but this time you've got to depend on me, not the other way around."

He processed that, and replied, "I have no qualms with that, Willow. You are quite dependable."

"Thanks," she replied, appreciating the sincerity in his comment.

Slipping off his shirt, he replied, "You are welcome. I will be with you in a few minutes," she nodded and turned, prepared to head back to the tent when he said, "Oh! Yes, and remember Willow," she turned to face him again, "My name is Wil-son, Wilson Percival Higgsbury."

"I told you I just wanted some fresh air!" she cried meekly as he began removing his shoes, he laughed in turn, certain that she was not losing her mind as he had suspected a few hours ago.

"Of course, now if you'll excuse me."

She left and made her way back to the tent, knowing that Wilson was just teasing her for being silly. Faintly fuming, she decided to take her revenge – a dish best served _hot_ she told herself, smiling. She grabbed Wilson's bedroll and took it outside to their fire and neatly propped it in. The fire blazed at the combustible offering.

Ten minutes later Wilson joined her by her side, neat and clean, "Was that my bedroll?" he cautiously ventured.

"Yep," she replied, still watching the flames dance in delight.

"So I'll be joining you tonight?"

"Yep,"

He sighed in relief, at least she did not expect him to sleep on the floor like he anticipated. There were some things even Willow was touchy about, like being treated clinically insane, he noted. He sat beside her and watched the flames with her.

Willow looked at him from the corner of her eye; he was smiling which she had not anticipated, "What? You're not mad?" she asked him incredulously. He shook his head, and looked at her skeptically, "No, why would I be?"

"I did just burn _your_ bedroll," she explained, "which _you_ sleep on."

He scratched his head, "But we sleep together, do we not?"

Ignoring the implications of that statement, and the faint burning in her cheeks, "I thought you wanted to sleep alone."

It was his turn to look abashed, "Erm, that was only because I needed time to think. I've actually grown rather… accustomed to the increased warmth."

"Oh," was all she could say.

She had planned the act to be both beneficial to her and detrimental to Wilson. She got to hoard his body warmth, and he had to lie with her. Instead it seemed he was also very reluctant to stop sharing a bedroll, which was a happy surprise to her.

"You do not mind? It will be difficult, but I could haphazardly craft another for myself if you wish to have your full revenge."

Indeed, he doubted his ability to craft anything substantial. He would probably end up sleeping in some smelly Beefalo wool.

"No, you don't have to do that," she said while thought, "but… you'll have to do something else instead."

"Anything," he said. She pulled out a sharp razor and grinned maniacally, he gulped and his beard practically shrieked.

"Ar-are you sure about this?" he asked meekly.

Her grin could not get any wider, "Oh I'm sure all right," she said, "I got _all _the badges in Girl Scouts."

Twenty minutes later, a clean-shaven Wilson inspected his chin carefully. She had been thorough, and her shaving skills had been exceptional. Not a drop of blood spilled. Although his face was slightly chillier, it was a price he was willing to pay. He never liked shaving since he came to this place, as it was a difficult envious without the assistance of a mirror.

He patiently waited for Willow's arrival, she was still busy bathing while he lay in their bedroll. A few minutes passed, and she arrived looking tangibly happier. She snuggled into the bed with him, and ran her hands across his chin, inspecting her handiwork.

"Perfect," she concluded.

The casual contact between them had become increasingly comfortable and common place, they were sharing a bed after all, and this caused Wilson to consider several things as he fell asleep. Willow fell asleep slightly later, still happily inspecting the clean profile of Wilson's face. She was definitely going to find a way to force him to shave again when his beard reappeared.

No insulation nonsense, she was his insulation, and that was good enough.

* * *

_Took longer than anticipated, but I'm relatively satisfied with it. I hope that it isn't coming off as too honeyed and sweet, the relationship between the duo I mean. I don't want to sound too ridiculous and I'm trying to build it up as naturally as I can. And I hope the pacing isn't too slow either, I don't want to make it sound like filler._

_Anyway! To the anonymous user who asked my thoughts on the multiplayer mode for Don't Starve. First off, wow! I didn't expect that! The fact that they're adding multiplayer I mean. But I actually think it would make this game a great deal more fun - dividing tasks between you and your friends, adventuring together, taking down bosses together etc._

_Well, that's if they don't just decide to troll you and torch your entire base or something._

_But it would mean a lot of cool synergies between the different characters, which could be really cool. They'd have to rebalance quite a few things, but it is definitely doable and I look forward to it, somewhat. None of my personal friends play it unfortunately._

_Kudos to all those who take the time to review, I appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the story._


	8. Chester & Deerclops

**Chester & Deerclops**

"_For only in the grip of darkness will we shine amidst the brightest stars."_

* * *

"Ahhh!" she squealed, "What is that?!"

Wilson sat cross-legged and petted the creature, "I'm not sure myself, but I call him Chester – short for Otto von Chesterfield."

She stood a fair distance away, and looked at the creature dubiously. It was unnerving to say the least; the beast had no eyes, though Wilson seemed largely unfazed by that fact. She was not even going to call him out on his ridiculous naming skills.

"How does it see?" she asked.

It seemed to spark a flicker of realization in Wilson, he fumbled around in his backpack, searching. It wasn't long before he pulled out something that unnerved Willow even more. It was an eye, on a bone – an Eye-Bone, and it was looking at them curiously.

"An intriguing concept," the scientist stated interestedly, "The body and the eye must be two separate entities, as long as the eye remains undamaged, the creature should regenerate and return."

They were out on a routine gathering trip; more of a casual walk to stretch their legs, before a creature seemingly appeared out of nowhere and started bouncing towards them with glee. If Willow had been alone – the creature would have been food by now.

He looked at Willow, noticing her squirming, "Come closer, it doesn't bite – I promise."

She came closer, and reluctantly sat down next to Wilson. He invited her to pet the creature, and she did. The eye looked at her curiously as she went about the business of petting, and she met its gaze, "It's rude to stare, you know."

The creature took this as an invitation to lick her across the face, and Willow recoiled heavily. "Eww, gross!" she exclaimed, stumbling backwards and wiping excess saliva from her face. Wilson was still sitting, now laughing quite openly, "I didn't say anything about licking though!" he said cheerfully.

He got up and held his hand out to her, "You're horrible," she said as she examined his outstretched hand.

"I could not resist, and I know I'll suffer your wrath at a later stage – but it was worth it."

"Hmph," she said, taking his hand, "Just as long as you remember that." She paused when she was upright again, studying Wilson's face closely. "You need to shave."

"Again?" he asked suddenly exasperated, "I shaved a mere two days ago."

"Aren't you a man of your word Wilson?" she asked offhandedly, "I'll hold you down to shave that dirty beatnik beard if I have to."

"That would be preferable actually," he remarked, inattentively touching the slight nick on his left cheek he gave himself two days prior. He looked back at Willow, noting her hefty backpack and the slight strain it put on her back, "Give me some of your heavier equipment; we can use Chester as a pack mule."

She watched him skeptically for a moment, and then obliged. He took her pickaxe, shovel and some grass tufts and opened Chester's jaw as you would a lid – propping the items inside carefully, then closing the latch.

He turned to see Willow regarding him as if he just sprouted another limb, though the shock did not hinder her too much in terms of verbal ability, "Why did you just feed that thing our stuff?" she asked bewilderedly.

"It won't, can't, digest materials of that nature – of any nature as far as I'm aware," he defended, "I've tried to feed it several kinds of food before, but it simply stored everything instead."

He saw she remained unconvinced, so he opened Chester's mouth again and pulled the axe out. It was completely void of saliva, much to Willow's surprise. He waved it around slightly, as if to emphasize his point.

"Okay, fine," she conceded, but not before adding, "I don't want my stuff to be covered in drool though."

He nodded, knowing that it would not pose a problem. "Let us make our way back to camp then?" he suggested lightly. She agreed, and they made their way back – a new pet happily bouncing behind them.

#

The fire crackled heartily, radiating warmth outwards to the duo. They were enjoying another simple meal composed mainly of beef for lunch. Only a few more days, thought Willow, and they would be able to enjoy vegetables and fruits once more.

"And then I added the potassium chlorate, which caused the entire concoction to explode in my face! It took me several hours to wash the grimy layer off."

Wilson was rambling again, as he sometimes did in recent days. Willow did not mind in the slightest, it was interesting to see him so animated once every now and then. It must be difficult having all these fantastic ideas but no one to share them with. This is what fueled her next question.

"Wilson," she interrupted, which stopped his rambling, "Did you have friends? Back in the real world I mean."

He seemed to ponder the matter very seriously for a while, as if friends were a foreign concept to him, "Mm, well – I did have one." He concluded eventually.

This intrigued Willow, she wondered who would have taken the time to get to know this reclusive man all cooped up in that rickety old house he spoke of so dearly, "Who?"

"Andrew, a valued companion of mine, he aided me greatly with my experiments."

"Oh, that's nice," she said absently, feeling a tinge of jealousy for indiscernible reasons, "What's he like?"

Again, he thought, "Rather quiet I suppose."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said, stirring his meaty broth slowly, "Though I'd estimate approximately two hundred years, give or take a decade."

Flabbergasted, Willow asked, "Come again?"

"Two hundred years, give or take a decade."

"But then," she said, "Isn't he dead?"

Wilson nodded, "Yes, what of it?"

She looked at him in mild shock, not sure what to make of his statements, "What exactly is Andrew?"

"A skull."

Whether to laugh at his particular definition of a friend or to cry that his only friend was a human skull – Willow did not know. She did neither, and instead said, "Well, now you have me as well."

He smiled earnestly at her, "Indeed I have."

Suddenly, a roar echoed through the forest, followed by several loud thuds – a giant's footsteps. Wilson looked at Willow in true fear, knowing the beast well enough to be afraid. It was coming.

"We leave now," he said urgently.

She nodded, and quickly they rushed to the tent, hurriedly packing away several essentials for the trip ahead. She knew well enough not to waste time by asking questions. They were finished packing within minutes, and running away from their camp with Chester in tow. Most of their valuable materials they had on them, and enough firewood stored in Chester's gullet to last a comfortable time.

They were a fair distance away when Willow realized something was missing, she felt for the reassuring lump of metal in his pocket – but it was not there. She remembered where she kept it, under a pillow in their tent.

"My lighter!" she exclaimed, and instinctively turned around, running back to the camp. She would not, could not, lose something so important to her. It was the last thing she had from her previous life, aside from her clothes.

"Willow! Wait!" he yelled in turn, knowing how close the beast was looming. Trees crashed a short distance from their base. He slipped off his backpack and ran after her, but she was remarkably faster than he and so was finished, prize in hand and smiling when she exited the tent.

She looked at Wilson, he wore a face of relief, but his expression suddenly grew dire as he saw the one-eyed beast behind her. Its colossal hooves stepped out from the trees, and its sole eye looked at Willow with frightening malice.

Feeling the presence behind her, she slowly turned around to take in the huge monstrosity looming above her. Never before had she felt so small, and she stood still in shock. When the beast raised a claw threateningly, she remained still. Even when the claw came down with frightening alacrity, still she stood.

Only when Wilson came crashing into her with a sizable momentum, did she move.

Falling face first into the snow, it took her mind three long seconds to register the following: a sickening crunch; a warm spray of something on the side of her face; the lack of Wilson lying beside her, and finally a sickening thud several meters behind her.

Quickly pushing herself up, she looked up to see Chester distracting the beast a few meters in front of her, barely avoiding its blows. She turned around to see Wilson lying in the snow, splatters of blood marking the way towards him.

Guilt gripped her heart, and forced it to the pits of her stomach. She rushed over to the man, or stumbled, as her legs were quaking with dread for the sight to come.

In retrospect, the day could have gone much better.

That's what Wilson thought as he lay on the cold, mushy snowy floor. His blood mixed with the fluffy snow, transforming it into a grotesque red glop. Time did not slow down for the Gentleman Scientist, but an acute sense of insignificance drew him in.

He was dying.

He needn't assess his injuries with his colossal intellect to determine that, it was a profound sense of knowing that it was the end of his performance in this world – and time to move on. But he did not want to move on. He still had left so much work unfinished, so many things left undiscovered, and then Willow…

Poor girl, he thought as she fussed about him, trying ceaselessly to stop the bleeding. He saw her tears flow freely over her puffy red cheeks, but her voice, surely muttering reassurances of varying degrees, was lost to him.

He hoped she would run soon. Chester would not be able to distract the beast for much longer. He hoped that she would succeed where he had failed, and survive Maxwell's games. Maybe somehow, she would be able to.

Then he died.

Willow sat cradling Wilson's body with bloodied hands as the one-eyed behemoth raged behind her, tearing down their camp. She did not care. Her thoughts were focused on the man before her. She sobbed openly, begging him to come back, back to her.

Eventually, she realized her fruitless her efforts were.

Something snapped in her, as a twig would under a heavy foot. A fire rose within her soul. Her grief and anguish transformed into a bitter rancorous burning that could only be hatred.

She stood up, abandoning the lifeless body, and turned towards the beast still ravaging their camp. Comprehension was lost to her as she approached the icy giant, each footstep searing snow – leaving whiffs of steam in her wake.

Her mind absent to her actions, she knew only hate for the one-eyed beast before her. Dangerous tendrils of fire arose out of her person, as if she'd been doused in alcohol and set alight.

The beast watched her curiously as she approached him, stopping just shy of its giant hooves. No creature had so casually approached the monster before, and it was unsure of what to make of it. Hesitantly, it decided that it was just another creature – that it could be crushed like all the rest.

It raised its hand and brought it down at Willow with clear intent, but just a meter above the pyro's head a blinding flash with the intensity of a star emanated from her, blinding the monster and sending it reeling backwards. It was closely followed by a scream that would echo in the heavens as a sphere of crimson fire enveloped Willow, setting the Deerclops alight as well.

A few meters away, Willow's lighter cracked, a hairline fracture appearing on the otherwise perfect exterior.

The creature stumbled backwards into the trees, blinded and burning, clawing and grasping for purchase. It found none. It rolled in the snow, trying to douse the flames, but they would not be doused. Willow watched the creature burn with a hateful smile – reveling in its suffering. It was not long before the beast stopped roaring and succumbed to the fiery embrace of flames.

Only then, did her smile falter. She fell to her knees on the charred ground crying, burying her face in her hands. Guilt consumed her once more as Wilson's death weighed on her.

#

A few miles away, thunder cracked, and lightning struck a Touch Stone. From the ashes a man arose, he looked around confused, frightened even.

He studied the horizon, and noticed a large cloud of smoke rising from the East. His thoughts narrowed to a single focal point.

"Willow."

* * *

_Can't believe I've hit the wall so early, oddly. I just couldn't come up with any solid ideas, or how to implement the scene I wanted to create where Willow turns into a human phoenix. Well, I did what I could._

_I also recently realized that long =/= good, so this chapter is succinct and to the point. I hope._

_For those of you wanting a bit of details supporting Willow's transformation into a goddess of fire, allow me to present to you my logic: Willow's lighter is effectively her limiter, her power is stored within it, hence the ability for it to burn infinitely._

_She can't access it directly, because it's all stored within the lighter. She can only draw it out slightly in trying circumstances, hence her ability to set fires alight at her feet when her sanity is low. _

_Now when some huge emotional trauma occurred, namely Wilson's death, she temporarily went insane and drew a much larger portion of the power her lighter stored, causing the lighter to crack in the process. _

_Blah blah, science, blah blah. _

_PS: The quote is from a song, The Death of Love by Cradle of Filth. I thought it somewhat fitting for this chapter._


	9. The Aftermath

Wilson tore through the frozen tundra like a man possessed. His legs wailed in agony from the exertion thrust upon them, but still he mustered onwards – sucking in icy air as lungs demanded.

He did not have time to think about how exactly why he was alive, but this was not the time to ponder these questions. He felt fine, albeit slightly weaker and mind leaning a tad more to insanity, but most importantly, he felt alive.

And scared.

The cold bit him through his clothing, much more suited to comfortable temperatures than the sub-zero conditions he currently faced. Thankfully his insane pace kept his blood frantically coursing through his veins, temporarily heating up his extremities to a survivable standard.

Heartbeat reverberating in his skull, the only sound he could discern above his panting. Only another mile or so, he thought looking up.

Suddenly, he felt the ground change beneath his feet. The sturdy ground replaced by a flaccid leathery texture. Realizing he had entered the swamp, a perilous territory – especially in these conditions, he studied his surroundings for threats. But his pace did not slacken. He knew the dangers that tentacles possessed, and that they would be vastly more difficult to spot with the layer of snow coating the ground.

Being a sane man – well, currently somewhat sane – he would have chosen a way around the swamp in different circumstances, but he needed to get to Willow as fast as possible. He would happily dance with death if it shaved off even a few seconds of time.

His right foot came done, and lacked purchase. He slipped and tumbled forward onto the ground painfully. Sitting up, he quickly took an inventory of himself: noting no serious injuries, he glanced over his shoulder. Behind him lay a puddle, the top of it frozen over.

Rising, a tentacle abruptly shot out of the ground in front of him, knocking him back. It wasted no time and lashed out at him.

Desperation is an alarmingly powerful state of being. It gives mere mortals the ability to transcend certain limits imposed on them, to become something more, something greater. His rage directed at Maxwell was an alarmingly impotent fuel compared to his fear for Willow's well-being.

As such, Wilson was able to avoid the blow by hurling himself backwards with startling power, over the icy top of the frozen puddle and back to safer territory – out of the tentacle's range. He stood up and rushed to the ever increasing cloud of smoke in the distant horizon.

Before long, he cleared the swamp and came into view of their camp.

It was a horrid mess, various pieces of equipment strewn chaotically about. A putrid scent assaulted him, the smell of burning flesh and fur. Among the rubble he scanned desperately for the pyromaniac. He knew not what he would do if she had met her demise, but a darkness would consume him – that he was certain of.

He saw her.

Relief flushed into his troubled eyes, and he stumbled uneasily towards her, legs barely functioning anymore. They were more like two pillars of jelly than the muscle and bone they consisted of. His mind felt mended, stable - like he had gained a healthy dose of sanity.

"Willow!" he croaked; having insufficient air in his lungs to fulfill the demand for a shout.

#

At the epicenter of the destruction sat the pyromaniac, a small crater formed around her from her prior fiery release, clutching her legs with frantic strength and sobbing steadily. Her figure coated in snow, her face, covered in tears and snot. Her mind was frayed at the edges, thoughts consistently narrowing to a single figure.

Wilson.

She didn't dare look at his body – it would be too much to bear. It was her fault, all her fault, her mind persisted. At first she tried to argue with reason, as Wilson would have, but her guilty conscience was too persevering. It trumped logic – ate away her resolve, and now it feasted steadily on what remained – which as it turned out, wasn't much.

Her lighter lay discarded a few meters away; she hated the object now, partly blaming it for Wilson's demise. She should have left it. She doubted she would be able to hold in good conscience now, provided she even came back from this blow.

How a few weeks of friendship fostered into something as profound as this, she did not know. But the loss bit her deep.

Before she could further sink into the abyss, she heard uneasy steps coming her way. On reflex alone, she looked up with bleary eyes. What she saw would be chiseled into her mind with infinite care, every detail of the man before her.

Wilson stood four meters away, he would later say it must have been more, but she remembered four.

He was covered in sweat, breathing heavily and watching her with unconstrained relief. He was shaking slightly. Tiredly, he placed a leg in front of him. Then another. This continued for a few antagonizing moments.

Willow's mind was having trouble computing certain facts, namely how he was still among the living, and without the gaping wound she remembered so vividly. Fortunately her mind caught up as he stumbled into her, she caught him in a clumsy embrace, which he returned.

"W-Wilson?" she croaked out, clumsily tracing his frame with her hands – as if to ensure he was real, and not an illusion.

"Willow," he replied, simply too tired for anything else.

His face was a wry grin, and she was sure it was him. Willow buried her face into his chest, and started crying again. Absently, she wondered if she was going to run out of tears before the day was done. She had done a lot of crying today. She listened to his pounding heartbeat.

Wilson let her cry, thankful for both the contact and the heat from her body. It was minutes before she finished, looking up to him and sniffing once, signaling the end. What words were suitable for this situation, they both wondered. She reached up and touched his face tentatively, immediately shocked by the icy temperature of his skin.

"Wilson, you're so c-cold!" she exclaimed. He actually chuckled at this, regaining a sliver of his good humor, "A consequence of running a small marathon in this weather without adequate clothing."

The faintest shadow of a smile touched her, but another question squirmed uneasily in her mind.

"H-how did you c-come back?"

His brows furrowed in thought. "I am not wholly certain… but let us leave that for another time," he said, and surveyed the remains of their camp once more, noting the charred remains of the Deerclops with equal parts relief and fore brooding, "We have much to do…"

Nodding, she replied and decided to take the lead, "First we've g-got to get you w-warmer, you'll catch your death if you don't d-do something about that," indicating his damp clothing. She wished she would stop stuttering, but the entire ordeal was so surreal that she couldn't help herself.

"I'll start a fire, y-you… you um, find something warm from the tent."

He nodded once, and quickly made his tent, or what remained of it. He felt somewhat disheartened from seeing their hard work so destroyed so utterly, but remembered that his most prized possession – Willow – remained unharmed. The thought energized him and soon enough he managed to tear a piece of insulating cloth from the tent, and dragged the bedroll to their campfire.

Willow looked at her once lucky trinket with disdain, but quickly shrugged it off and picked it up. She required its assistance. It felt decidedly heavier than she remembered. She gathered some boards and twigs, and quickly went to work constructing the fire.

In minutes, the fire was ablaze and Wilson basked in the heat radiating onto his cold skin. He was huddled next to Willow with the cloth covering both of them, but as the adrenaline left his body – he could not help shivering. The heat was simply not enough.

"You need to strip."

Modesty forced him to blush at the instruction, and he complied. "What?"

"You need to strip," she repeated. There was no mistaking her words this time, so he changed his original question.

"Why?" he challenged slightly, though he probably knew the answer.

She pinched his sleeve. "You'll never get warm enough in this, and we can't afford you getting sick."

Agreeing, he fumbled with his waistcoat as Willow turned to give him some privacy, but his shivering hands were no match for the buttons. "Damn these confounded buttons!" he cried after a minute, making Willow jump. She turned to him, wearing an offer on her face.

He accepted it, "Would you be so kind?" he asked, teeth chattering slightly and gesturing at the offending piece of clothing. Without another word she set to work while he tried not to shiver too much.

The garment slipped off without incident, and Wilson was about to give her his thanks but she started on his shirt next. Not meaning to offend, he accepted the treatment in stride. Goosebumps tracked his skin as his chest was laid bare to the environment.

As much as she tried, she couldn't stop the telltale redness spreading into her cheeks while Wilson struggled to maintain whatever dignity as a gentleman he had left. Having Willow perform the task of undressing his person was… awkward, but not as testing as he had anticipated – her hands were comfortingly warm and agile.

Willow tugged on his trousers, bringing them to his knees and him out of his stupor.

Both looked at the single remaining undergarment on his person, Wilson swallowed audibly, "I think I'll keep this on."

Nodding, she reached out to embrace him but fell short. Before she could dwell on her actions, she embraced him fiercely, transferring as much heat as she could muster. She rubbed his back trying to cover as much area as possible with her ten digits. After a few minutes, she settled into a comfortable rhythm and he felt markedly warmer. It was Wilson's voice who pulled her out of her lull.

"You feel extremely warm – a perk of being a pyromaniac, I suppose."

She laughed quietly, it was an attempt to lighten the mood and it worked. "Thank you. Y'know, I think we've been forced to do this sort of thing a lot lately. I bet someone's getting a real laugh out of this whole thing."

He frowned, "What do you mean?"

Shrugging, she replied, "We've been forced to… undress each other several times since we've known each other. It just kind of feels like someone is dictating these events for their amusement."

"You believe Maxwell to be orchestrating these encounters?"

She shook her head vehemently, dispelling the notion entirely, "I don't think he's the type to entertain these things – if it were him, you'd still be dead."

He could not argue with that logic. Inhaling deeply, he relished in her alluring scent. She smelled of smoke and ash but with a subtle undertone of something unmistakably feminine. It was pleasant, not overbearing.

"Do you think there's someone up there, looking out for us?" she asked a bit wistfully. Never truly believing in any wondrous deity bestowing gifts without asking for anything in return, she was reluctant to trust her words. But her prayer was answered; Wilson was here, alive, with her.

It did not take long for the gentleman scientist to respond, "As a man of science, no... but as a man of hope, perhaps."

She shuffled under the covers to become more comfortable, and to look Wilson in the face. Their faces were nearly touching, and she could feel his breath on her face.

"H-how do you explain coming back then?"

"I have a theory or two," he remarked wearily, "I shall delve into the details later tonight, but we should focus on constructing a suitable shelter for the evening, and prepare some food."

Ever the scientist she thought admiringly. She exhaled thoroughly, relieving herself of several cumbersome emotions. Today had been a trying day for the pyromaniac, still was. She brought her forehead to his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was, in that moment.

She could see his eyes studying her, with care, as if she was a puzzle he needed to solve – to understand. She did not take offense to it. There was a subtle warmness to it, of hope, and perhaps, of love. The word that summoned butterflies to any girls' stomach, even a lonely pyromaniac who would watch a fire instead of partaking in elaborate candlelit dinners – even if the candles were lovely.

It was probably which brought her next words to bear.

"M-maybe we could do this stuff for fun one day, deities or no."

Seemingly gaining awareness of exactly what she said, she brought her face away from his and to his shoulder. She hoped he would not push her away, even though it would be well in his boundaries if he did. The casual contact between them was suitable only for... partners, now that the deathly chill was away from him.

She did not know much about men, or how to read their expressions. And even if she did, Wilson was certainly not like any other men. He was something of an anomaly, unreadable expression and subtle in emotion.

She caught only fleeting glimpses of it, but she was still uncertain of his true intentions.

Thankfully, he didn't push her away.

He himself was lost on how to respond to her... invitation, if he had not misinterpreted it. If anyone else, he would have simply declined the offer and moved on. But he had wanted to accept, for reasons hidden to himself. He wished to

Wilson cleared this throat and looked over to the side, searching for something else to use as a topic. As much as he would detest to admitting it, understanding the fairer sex – lest to mention courting – was something wholly outside his area of expertise. He had never required the information, and never thought he would. Times certainly have changed.

"What happened to the Deerclops?" he asked clearing his throat, inspecting the creature's remains analytically.

She looked over to where his gaze was focused, and furrowed her brow. He felt her aura change, a tangible effect causing her to tense against him. "I got angry."

"Angry?" he questioned innocently. Besting a beast of that caliber is folly at best, but there it lay, dead. None of the scenarios he assumed were even remotely viable to result in this outcome.

"Yes."

Frowning at her curt explanation, he prodded for further details, "And then?"

"Then it died."

The frown deepened, "Willow, care to expand on that?"

Sighing, she elaborated, "I… I don't know exactly, I just remember being so _angry_... and then everything went white."

Somehow she must have set the creature alight, obviously, but no feasible manner presented itself. Even if she managed to land a fiery spear, it would simply have snuffed out under a minute in these conditions. The only possible explanation was if a large portion of the creature's body suddenly burst into flames.

Thick fur was wonderful as insulation against the cold, but it does not bode well with fire.

The question was, how did Willow manage to do it? He shrugged. He would think about it later tonight, with the comfort of a full stomach and a warm environment. Somehow they would have to construct a makeshift tent from what remained, a task that would not take too long, hopefully.

"Wilson," she started in a somber tone, "Look, I'm sorry for running back and… and then, you-"

Grief has punished her enough, and he would not allow it to punish her more, "Willow," he interrupted quietly, and she stopped.

"Yes, because of your actions, I was killed."

She froze, she had not anticipated such a blunt statement, it was like a punch to her stomach. It took the air from her lungs, and she could not breathe. She bowed her head in shame, allowing him to continue.

"But here I am, alive, granted a second chance. Given the choice a hundred times more, I would have done the same thing. I do not hold you responsible, as you no doubt do yourself. It was my choice to make."

He was speaking steadily, methodically. As if he's planned this entire encounter already, which was a definite possibility.

"I know how dearly you treasure your lighter."

At the mention of it, she remembered the lighter in her pocket. For once, the object seemed to burn Willow. Too hot for her. But then she felt his hand on her chin, bringing her face to meet his. She did not struggle against it.

His eyes were piercing, intense, but kind. It was as if he was looking through her. She felt bare under his gaze. It also brought her attention to the condition of her face, no doubt still covered in traces of dirt and tears.

Not an appealing sight, obviously.

"But to me, you are far too precious to sacrifice for anything."

Wow. That was quite direct. But in a good way. The tight knot in her stomach evaporated, as if never existing. Now her cheeks burned.

"I only wish that you forgive yourself. Can you do that for me, Willow?"

Again, his breath on her skin was paralyzing. She nodded once, decisively. He released her, and smiled, obviously happy with the proceedings.

"Then you are forgiven," he said, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before adding, "May I keep my beard?"

She was confused for a moment, then realized he was making a joke. She wondered where he had learned to be so smooth with his words, both careful and genuine.

"No, you may not," she refuted lightly, and smiled, "That's coming off, as soon as we have a free moment."

He nodded sagely, "I see. Let us make haste then and work, we have much to do."

And with that, the rest of the day passed quickly while they worked. They salvaged what they could, used as firewood what they couldn't. Both were largely unconcerned with the destruction around them, even if it was a constant reminder of endless hours of hard work down the metaphysical drain.

They had each other, and that was all that mattered.

The tent proved easier to fix than they had anticipated, Willow had put her girl scout skills to good use and the tent's condition was passable, though they would have to make some structural improvements tomorrow.

It would suffice, for the time being.

For food, the Deerclops sufficed. Most of it was burnt beyond the point of being edible, but several large chunks looked promising. Willow offered to retrieve them, and Wilson allowed her. He watched with only minor discomfort as she tore into the beast with a sharp knife, muttering various curses under her breath.

She must not be the forgiving type.

"There," she stated, handing the last piece of cooked meat to him. He nodded, but something caught his eye. Or, an eye caught him. He walked to the creature's head, and studied the solitary sphere out of its socket.

Willow watched him from a little distance away, hoping he was not considering eating the eye. She didn't care if it was high in protein, low in calories, or whatever. It was still an eye.

And it was staring at her.

He reached out, and touched the eye; touched it! She suppressed a shiver, "Wilson, what are you doing?" she asked plainly.

"I am considering taking this, it may prove useful."

The texture of the eye was firm, strong, resilient. If he could determine a use for it, he had no doubt it would be useful. It was gross no doubt, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He could not afford to be picky.

As they walked back to camp, him carrying the eye and Willow carrying the meat, he could not help noticing the backward glances she kept giving him, or rather, the eye. It was as if she was scared of it.

Personally, he just found the surface disgustingly slick, he would wash his hands thoroughly when he stashed it away.

After the fifth glance Willow shot to the eyeball, he charged forward and yelled, "Booo!"

His suspicions proved true, and she squealed in fear and stumbled forward to distance herself from him. He abruptly stopped running; his legs were still stiff from prior use. He watched her practically fly back to the campfire, not pausing for even a moment to see that he had stopped giving chase.

Laughing heartily, he trudged his way back to the fire, and a scowling Willow.

Trying to don a neutral expression, he met her gaze, though the corners of his mouth threatened to give way to a smile. She waited until he placed the eye down, a respectable distance away from her too, before talking.

"Not funny." She said seriously.

He tried really hard not to laugh, he did, his efforts were in vain. Eventually erupting into a bout of snickering, he broke her gaze. Why he derived so much pleasure from teasing her, he did not know.

But it didn't diminish the joy whatsoever.

However, the punch to his arm, did.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his tender arm. He was constantly surprised by the strength of her punches, which thankfully, he did not have to sample frequently. For such a girl, she had amazing upper body strength.

Then again, probably another consequence of fighting for your survival.

"Not so funny now, is it?"

He thought it amusing, how quickly they could lapse back into old habits in perhaps the most dire time they faced together. He was dead not a day ago, and here they were playfully teasing each other.

Maybe it was a psychological defense mechanism.

"Perhaps not, though you should consider being lenient on a man so fresh from the grave."

Her face paled noticeably, and he silently cursed himself for bringing up his demise so casually. The wounds were still raw, and they would take time to mend. She recovered quickly, "If you're well enough to tease me, you're well enough to take a punch."

Sound reasoning.

"Would you prepare dinner while I gather some water for bathing?"

She looked hesitant at his request, for reasons he could not discern. But she agreed nevertheless, "Just don't take too long, okay?"

With a promise that he would not take a second longer than necessary, he left.

#

"Say pal, you look _quite_ good, considering the circumstances."

Wilson suppressed his simpler instincts imploring him to attack the man beside him, but oh how so fulfilling it would prove – if the plan had any merit. Maxwell was many things, but stupid was not one of them.

He would never willingly put himself in harm's way.

"You aren't mad at me, are you?" he asked rhetorically. "After all, your demise was not my doing, it was _hers_."

He knew it folly to argue with the man, it would only fuel his own anger and please Maxwell's deranged sense of humour, yet he could not help it.

"Yet here I am, alive and untouched."

Maxwell scoffed at that, "Alive perhaps, but untouched? No, certainly not. I warned you that she would prove to be your end, and I was right."

Knowing his words to be true, Wilson did the wise thing and remained silent. The apparatus had nearly finished filling with water.

The man beside him puffed on his cigar, exhaling thoughtfully before speaking, "You know, I too, have loved. As I'm sure you can agree, it is unlike anything else."

This was news to Wilson, he turned to view Maxwell. He was about to offer some form of rebuttal, as weak as it may be, for he knew the man to be right, but the sight he was afforded stopped him.

Maxwell was absently gazing off into the horizon, his face neutral albeit tinged with something akin to melancholy. The usual sadistic mirth curiously gone – it was as if looking at an entirely different person.

He ventured a question, "What happened to her?"

Maxwell's face contorted into anger, and subsided back to neutral tones. "I became greedy, and lost her." He paused, and chuckled without humor, "I believe she would try to kill me, if we were to meet again. I would not blame her either."

Composing himself, Maxwell turned to Wilson with something of a smirk on his face.

"Since you have so recently died, I will not set the hounds on you tonight. Enjoy what time you have left with her."

Maxwell vanished in a puff of black smoke, seemingly slipping out of existence as easily as one would slip out of a comfortable chair. The apparatus had finished filling with their water, but Wilson made no move to rise.

He mulled over Maxwell's words. Taking each apart with careful consideration, trying to understand what angle he was playing at.

For the first time since arriving, he felt conflicted about Maxwell. Perhaps it was another clever ruse to unsettle him, weaken his resolve, but he was certain that the display was genuine. At least, some of it.

However, even with Maxwell's promise, he would be sleeping with a spear handy.

#

"Willow?"

She shuffled slightly under the covers. She was awake after all. "Mmm?"

"What do you think of Maxwell?"

Perhaps it was not the best time to gauge their tormentor's intentions, huddled together in the bedroll and on the edge of sleep, but the thought tugged on Wilson's mind. He patiently waited for a reply, but the silence stretched. Only when he was certain sleep had claimed her, did he try to fall asleep himself.

"What do you mean?" she asked quietly, intending for more clarity.

He opened his mouth, and paused. He thought of how to word it. "What do you believe his… goals to be?"

She scoffed, "I think he just wants to watch us suffer I guess. He probably gets a kick out of it." She yawned, deeply so. "Wilson, can we talk tomorrow? I'm kind of tired and my mind isn't really working right now."

A fair request.

"Indeed. Good night Willow."

"G'night Wilson."

* * *

_As always, review and so forth. I'm highly critical on my own work, and I have no idea if what I'm writing is any good at times. My main concern is if the story is progressing too slowly or not? This is quite a long chapter, and not much of anything happens._

_What do you guys think? Maybe it's just my imagination._

_Hope you enjoy._


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